Nobody Ever Asked My Birthday: Folio Edition
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Bound copies of a story that generates complaints because my chapters are too short. Authors notes have been removed from this version, in the main.
1. Harry is not the hero

Harry Potter had always, somewhere deep inside him, _known_ it was a lie. Everyone looked at him like he was supposed to be a hero, just because of some stupid scar. He had never believed it, not really. But, and it's a very big but, he had thought he could pretend. Pretend to be the hero, just because other people really, really seemed to need one. Harry never needed a hero, and he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with one if Superman showed up, to be perfectly honest. Drop Draco Malfoy on his head? That seemed a bit ... undignified, not to mention rather dastardly. But, he thought, sitting alone in Dumbledore's office, it had seemed perfectly harmless to try. And he had managed to get rid of Voldemort [_Don't say his name_, Snape snapped in his memory] first year... After that, well, it had seemed perfectly... natural. And that was a bit of a problem, wasn't it? Because being a hero wasn't exactly a natural thing. If it was, all the Hufflepuffs would be doing it.

Sirius was dead, and for _absolutely_ no reason. Harry Potter glumly thought. _It's my fault. Me and my stupid heroism. I'm __not__ a bloody hero!_

And it was true. Harry remembered picking up that glass orb in the Hall of Prophecies. The one whose podium was inscribed H.P.? and Lord V. The orb had remained silent, troublingly so. Then chaos had erupted all around him, the Order and the Death Eaters fighting and killing, and he had _dropped_ the ball, shattering it into a million pieces. _What sort of a hero does that, I wonder? _Harry asked himself scathingly. He hadn't time to answer the question, before the door slammed open, rattling every single object in Dumbledore's office.

Snape stalked in, seething and visibly restraining himself from throttling either the poor fool in front of him (Harry), or the poor fool behind him (Albus Dumbledore). As Dumbledore strolled in, his feet seemed leaden, his normally jovial face solemn.

Snape whirled in his accustomed shadowy corner (_the man plainly liked shadows)_, and Dumbledore sat down, tenting his fingers gravely. "You heard the prophecy, my boy?"

Befuddled, Harry Potter blinked, and then blinked again, _Dumbledore didn't know?_

"No sir," he responded, finally. "The orb broke when I dropped it."

Dumbledore was a Gryffindor well used to tangling with the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. He betrayed his shock only in a slight widening of his eyes.

Snape's drawling voice dripped venom that etched the floor where it pooled. "A pity that. We could have used the orb to see if the prophecy was about Neville Longbottom, hmmm?" Harry was horrified to see that Snape wasn't even _bothering_ to be upset with him, his ire focused into a laserbeam towards the genial old wizard.

"You've been most vocal about how Harry Potter couldn't possibly be the person in the prophecy, Severus. I ought to have listened closer. You were right, and I was wrong." Dumbledore sighed, the very breath seeming to leave him.

Snape whirled towards Potter, and, looming over him, he smiled a sweet smile that reeked of the poisonous beauty of nightshade. "It's alright, Potter, you can cease perpetually training yourself fruitlessly to fight a Dark Lord, it's not _your job_." Potter hadn't even realized he had been waiting for the stiletto until the blade struck. "Oh, wait, you haven't been training at all, have you? Just acting like a useless gadabout, off on _adventures_ rather than learning a single thing."

Infuriated, Harry Potter sat up straight, ready to give Snape a piece of his mind. He wasn't Crabbe or Goyle. Sure, he wasn't the most studious person ever, or even the most talented or hard-working soul... but still!

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, and Snape snarled softly, "Just remember, Potter, it's not _all about you_."

Pretending to not notice the comment (because surely Albus Dumbledore wasn't deaf...), the old man said, "I will have to give this matter more thought. I will talk to the both of you later..."

Harry Potter spoke up, his voice firm and angry both at once, "Sir, what is the prophecy?"

"What have we said about poking our noses into business that _doesn't concern you_?" Snape asked mildly, his reproof marked anyhow.

"Be still, Severus." Dumbledore said reproachfully, "He deserves to hear that which I allowed, foolishly, to guide his life."

Dumbledore spoke:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

"Now, leave us, Harry. I must speak to Severus on some other topics..." And Harry Potter stood and left, his thoughts swirling around the idea that Albus Dumbledore could be wrong.

* * *

Harry Potter was not going to be depressed. Really, he wasn't. It was awful hard though, stuck here in Grimmauld Place - crawling with Order Members, and not a one of them with a clue about what's to be done.

Remus was falling apart, half from grief, half from the thought that his _other_ best friend (James) had died for a wild goose chase. Every time he looked at Harry, Potter realized exactly how differently Remus looked at him. Still with love, and overtones of fondness, but no longer that barely concealed pride. Lupin had said Harry was good at DADA, Harry Potter thought crossly. _Had Remus lied?_

McGonagall was better at poker faces, but, every once in a while, he'd find her up near the gables, a thin window open, her face sticking out into the rain. He never pried, but he was sure that she'd been crying. The windows were never opened when it wasn't raining. Prof McGonagall helped to organize things, and was sent out on missions to "organize" things (Harry privately thought that if she was sorting papers, she might as well stay home... and then he wondered what other things she might be organizing).

Moody seemed like a coiled spring, muttering under his breath when no one was listening, "Never trust a prophecy" - and he showed a disturbing tendency to hex Tonks when she fell over something, which was a lot more common these days.

The Ravenclaw contingent (including Hermione) had retreated into the library (some were at Hogwarts, Harry realized, but books were their safe haven, and they had all retired from the field). At least they weren't running from hm this time.

The Hufflepuffs just looked grim, their faces creased - as if they were set to die, and just hadn't realized it yet. Occasionally one would fall to pieces, and Harry would find some chocolate in a mug the next morning, half drunk and half wept in.

With so many frayed emotions, so many broken hopes, it was no small wonder that Grimmauld Place had begun to seem worse than his cousin's. His aunt and uncle were predictable, after all, and their hate was so old that it felt well-worn and comfortable. Not these broken glass shards, squeaking against each other, of people he knew and admired.

Through it all, there was one person who never quavered and never smiled. Severus Snape. Interested, almost despite himself, Harry Potter studied the man. Snape may very well have liked the color black, but his world seemed steeped in gray. Potter saw how Snape quelled rooms with a few soft-spoken words, the mere hint of his silken drawl quelling fights - most often by setting both parties directly at Snape's throat. Harry Potter saw Snape return from one of his frequent trips "out", looking as sallow as a lich, and about as hale and hearty - which was to say, not at all. In fact, as Harry kept watching, he confirmed that Snape always returned looking like that. Then again, Harry thought, meetings with Voldemort couldn't be _fun_. Not even for Severus Snape.

A month after school had ended, June dawned with scalding rays of sunlight, pouring into rooms that barely understood the concept of daylight. An Order Meeting! You couldn't keep the Weasleys out of the meetings, Harry Potter's mind insisted - filled with the cheerful naivety that children often have. And, as is often the case, Fred and George had a wonderful invention - extendible ears. Up in a small bedroom, Harry Potter listened to the cheerful plans. "And then we'll know just what's going on!" And the entire room was filled with laughing Weasley children, and for the first time in a long time, Harry smiled.

Dumbledore and the rest of the school staff were already in the Grand Hall, waiting for the full meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Fred and George had sent one of their magically enhanced wind up spiders (which always made Ron scream, so the other twin held Ron's lips shut) to run out the pink-earlobe-colored line on the extensible ears.

People seemed to file in from multiple directions, Fred explained, as he listened, saying "they're just exchanging greetings." All the children were curled up in the library near the front door, the line of the ear stretching from there to the Grand Hall.

The front door opened, and Severus Snape strode in, his haggard demeanor evident with every supremely confident step. Everyone in the room held their breath, not wanting to be discovered - and foolishly forgetting the extensible ear. As Snape strode by, unpausing, George whispered in a voice that even Fred could barely hear, "Maybe he didn't see it?"

Snape walked to the door of the Great Hall, stooped over - the children down the hall were no longer _breathing _\- and picked up the Extensible Ear. Then, as if he hadn't just done the most unSnapish thing possible - barring him smiling, of course, he squared his shoulders, opened the door to the Grand Hall, and strode in.

Fred suddenly whispered, slightly louder than before. "I'm getting better reception now..." His eyes were big as saucers.

Harry Potter closed his eyes, picturing the Great Hall, as Fred told them all what he was hearing. But, mostly, he was picturing one Severus Snape, looming in a corner, with a pink string coming out of his pocket. A pink string that Art and his wife Molly Weasley surely knew what it was about.

Harry could easily imagine Dumbledore's eyes twinkling- though he wasn't sure they were. He _was_ sure that Art and Molly would be joining forces, paired together in such a way that they could royally tell off Snape.

In the newly found silence of the room - Snape, as usual, was the last to arrive - Remus Lupin asked tentatively, "Err... Severus, is there something stuck to your robe?"

"I would think you,_ of all people_, would not twit me about sartorial choice." Snape's voice slid out in a purr, the serpentine danger of his glare apparent even in his tone.

Harry could see Remus looking down, momentarily abashed at his own poor attire, and then more embarrassed at having _possibly_ thought that he could head this off.

"Shall we get this meeting started?" Dumbledore smiled, saying "So glad you could join us, Severus. I have a few matters that will require your particular insight."

Harry Potter imagined Snape's... not smile, but a lifting of the eyebrows, a lightening of his expression, that rather than giving gladness, merely sent the impression of alertness. (Around Harry, the look generally implied some sort of malevolent glee, here he suspected it was raw curiosity).

Ginny asked, "You don't think... Snape meant to... bring it in, do you?" her voice self-editing the incrimination...

"Merlin no!" Ron responded, and George cracked a grin. Potter knew otherwise, though, "that canny bastard!" he whispered too low to be heard by anyone else. _He was neatly sidestepping the entire argument about bringing us in, counting on his own intimidating presence to stop the whinging._

Sounds of a struggle were heard, unidentifiable until Fred heard Molly's chuffy tone. "Well, I Never!" A snort from Molly's nose, and then "My own husband!" _Perhaps I spoke too soon, _Potter thought, bemusedly. _Only Molly would take it so hard, anyhow._

"Art, Molly" Severus Snape's voice slid like a razor on a man's jugular, and they froze - seemingly understanding, suddenly, that a meeting was no time for overt, physical reactions. "You have said, time and again, that the Order of the Phoenix ought not to admit those under their majority. Accordingly, I do not suggest that. What I will suggest, for the time being, is that the children require training, if they're to be properly productive when they do join the Order." Potter could just see Snape's steepled, sallow hands, and his half-shadowed face, looming out from the dark corner.

"Why Severus! What a wonderful idea!" Dumbledore cried cheerily, his mood entirely inappropriate for a room that contained Severus Snape, let alone two Weasleys just turned off fisticuffs.

"I think this will go better if we assign mentors, rather than trying to train everyone in the same mold. I'm certain you can all see that the ... _talents_ ... of the Weasley twins are far different from the ... intelligence ... of Miss Granger." Potter heard the soft smile in Snape's voice, the smile that was really seen as a smirk, "I have some training techniques that I've been meaning to experiment with, and I can't really push a group nearly as effectively as I can accelerate a single soul." _Heaven help the person who Snape winds up training! _There were murmurs of assent all round, muted by the natural caution of Gryffindors to a Slytherin suggesting... well, anything. _Merlin knows, I'd have been suspicious if Malfoy suggested we wear white socks instead of black. And that's perfectly harmless!_

"Who do you have in mind?" Dumbledore asked curiously, his tone considerably more somber and befitting a grand wizard.

"Remus-" Snape continued on, not pausing for comment, "Take the twins. If you can't have them shipshape within a month, I'll show you some pranks you won't soon forget." Potter knew Snape's smile had turned into an evil, malevolent grin. _Snape knows how to prank? Snape thinks he can prank those three? And ... get away with it? _These were odd thoughts for Potter to have, and they didn't terribly seem to fit the man. Still, one could say one thing about such comments - they were a hell of a motivator.

"We accept your bet." Lupin said smoothly, his generally weak voice sounding certain for once. Fred whispered, "I'm almost tempted to throw it just to see what pranks _Snape_ would do."

"Moody, take Granger. If she's half the brain she is in class, you'll have her up to your standards before the start of school." Snape fired off, ignoring the old Auror when he exclaimed, "_Nobody_'s up to my standards!"

Around the room they went, distributing people - Art, rather predictably, got Ron. Molly got Percy - more, Potter suspected, because she had a hope of bringing him home, rather than she'd be the most effective teacher for him.

Everyone, even Neville Longbottom, had been apportioned (Mrs. Figg had taken Neville, which seemed charmingly appropriate. They were both more, and less, than they seemed)... except Harry Potter.

So, it came as absolutely no surprise to Harry, when Snape finally said, "And I'll take Harry Potter." Snape's voice was iron, but without a trace of scorn, mockery or indecision. Harry Potter was not surprised - when you stared into the abyss, sometimes the abyss stares back at you.

The Great Hall erupted in an uproar, the sounds of entirely too many voices trying to be heard. In such a milieu, the quiet people were more worth paying attention to - Moody, looking skeptical, as always... and Lupin, whose affable manner held a rarely seen shrewdness, as if he could take Severus Snape's measure merely by sight alone (or perhaps it was smell, the DADA professor was more than usually skilled in that department).

All this Harry envisioned, his mind sketching the room and its occupants based on Fred's words and also on what he didn't say. McGonagall was tutting, and Molly was shrieking at Severus, threatening him - of all things! Art was trying to hold his wife back, his voice washed out in all the turmoil. Flitwick was asking Severus what he was thinking, and Sprout was challenging Snape on why they should possibly let him have Harry Potter.

Gradually, the noise died, and Severus Snape let the words continue, not listening to a single word of any of it, really. It was all predictable, after all.

In a tone of quiet satisfaction (belied, no doubt, by the open mockery on Snape's mug), Severus said plainly (if a Slytherin could ever speak so), "He's ready to learn," lacing his fingers together, his hands in front of his chest.

Molly opened her mouth to say something, "Wh-"

Snape smoothly cut her off, "Naturally, I'd be willing to submit to daily checkins, to reassure you that there is neither a dead teacher nor a dead student."

Dumbledore gave a wry chuckle (was he the only one who appreciated Snape's humor?), and said, "Oh, that will hardly be necessary. Perhaps a weekly visit shall suffice."

"Visit?" Lupin asked, his mild tone concealing his sharp eyes.

"Each of you have your own means of training. I'll not constrain you to the space available within the Black residence." Snape said, "I intend to be here as little as possible, myself. It's stifling." Harry Potter knew what Snape meant - in a way, this place with all it's feelings and people was worse than his old cupboard.

To everyone's surprise (except Harry's), the extensible ear went silent. The Order had moved onto other business, and it was no longer appropriate to listen.

As the Weasleys found things to chatter about, they were all universally agreed that Potter had pulled the worst mentor of the lot. Thoughtfully, Harry Potter kept his silence, letting them think as they would. It was unexpected, surely, and Harry Potter found himself scouring his mind for interpretations, explanations. Was it simply to get him out of here, give the rest of them some time to sink into something other than The Hero Is Gone, The War is Ended? Did he want to bring Harry Potter back, not as a hero, but just an ordinary kid? Could anyone else see him like that? And Harry Potter did a doubletake. Snape had always treated him like a kid, like a child who was just that... he had never, ever given even a trace of the subservience that Lupin had granted him, the respect that McGonagall gave him, even the wary liking that Moody - who never liked a single soul - had given him. Odd that, Harry Potter thought, scrawling it in his messy handwriting inside his mind.

* * *

The next day dawned cruelly, the sun stabbing into Harry Potter's pillow at the grim Black residence. Harry Potter, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. Snape had woken him with a hard shake, in the twilight that comes before even the false dawn. Harry had woken with a yawn, and Snape responded, as if to an unasked question, "This is worse for me than it is for you." Harry found the truth in the statement - Snape was a night owl in truth, and being up before 5am was indeed a cruelty. "Five minutes. Be dressed and packed." Snape left the room, and Harry Potter took a moment to contemplate, before shrugging and tossing in the bare essentials. Soap, toothbrush, three changes of clothes (enough to wash, should need arise).

Harry Potter emerged from his room, drawing on his remembered stealth at his uncle's, to send him down the stairs smoothly and without a creak. At the bottom, Snape was an angular sprawl in a sitting chair - the entire position indescribably awkward, probably to keep Snape awake. "Do you have your wand, Potter?"

"Yes, sir." Harry Potter responded, his head clearing from sleep into speech.

"You may put it back in your room if you like. The ministry tracks underage wands much more than they track underage wizards."

With a crisp nod, Harry Potter headed upstairs, dropping his wand in a special concealed place behind the bed. Old habits die hard, don't they? he thought in amusement.

"Reporting for duty, sir." Harry Potter said as he arrived in front of Snape's form. He found it some small comfort that Snape was tired as well.

"Your wand, Potter," Snape said smoothly, proffering the small stick of wood to Harry.

"Thank you sir." Harry Potter said, with a watchful eye.

"Best be going, before the rest wake. Questions waste time. Hold on tight." Snape said, as he suddenly straightened, standing, and wrapping Harry Potter inside his robes. Harry Potter blinked as his eyes felt the onrushing darkness - trying to get his sight back as best he was able. That lasted only a moment, before the apparition made thinking - or seeing - impossible. On the other side, Harry Potter found himself ... somehow still standing. He was looking at a bright wood, and they were standing in a field.

"How... sir?" Harry Potter asked, wondering if he really could trust Snape to understand him...

"It helps if you don't look." Snape responded, and Harry Potter nodded, thinking, "I suppose so..."

"Potter, what's the third arithmantic sum of sums?" Snape snapped.

"I don't know, sir." Harry Potter snapped crisply back, his shoulders thrown back in a more military posture.

"Give me ten laps round the wood. You'll think better when your heart's pumping." Snape snapped.

"Where are we?" Snape snapped, as Harry Potter came to a rather sweaty conclusion of the ten laps.

"England, I think, rural - probably wizarding. No cars, no roads." Harry Potter responded, gaspingly. It had been something to contemplate as he ran the wood, and he had come up with some observations.

"Pertinent. What are the eleven uses of dragon's blood?" Snape asked, his voice cracking like a flag on a windy day.

"Eleven uses for dragon's blood?" Harry Potter asked dumbly, and began to list what he had learned... the ten uses, that is.

"And the eleventh?" Snape asked.

"I don't know, sir."

"A hundred pushups, and then answer." Snape said, watching as Potter continued to sweat, his robes clinging to him.

"I still don't know, sir." Harry responded at last.

"Keeping a dragon alive." Snape said, his feet guiding him in a tight circle around Harry Potter, before he asked, "Why are you still wearing robes?"

Harry Potter flushed, and forced himself to answer honestly, "Habit. Sheer force of habit, and stupidity, sir."

Snape purred, "Very good. You had reason to suspect that this was a wizarding place, but not enough justification to leave your robes on. Furthermore, accomplishing the tasks before you will be significantly less difficult if you're wearing appropriate attire." Harry Potter began to pull off his robes, as Snape continued, "Have a care with the wand, you're not used to it, and it won't handle as well as the one you're used to. Create the attire you wish to use." Snape said, as he carefully observed his student.

Snape demonstrated one spell for Harry Potter, all the while Harry lifted the weight of a solid iron bar. "This will be the spell you will learn today. Learn it perfectly. Every step you take, every muscle you move - focus on the spell, on the intention, on the word, on the gesture. Learn it until you own it. By the end of the day, I expect you to be able to cast it."

The training continued all day, without stopping to eat. "If you're moving enough, just graze - your body needs fuel always, rest less often." Snape had said, tossing Potter some waybread, light as any made by Tolkien's elves. Potter ate it without seeming to taste it, his adolescent body burning with the athletic energy he'd both poured into it, and siphoned from it.

Focus. Harry Potter hadn't realized how much his studies had lacked it - even when he was learning the Patronus, until he tried this exercise. This Training. He forced himself to pull the spell apart, working his way gesture to gesture, syllable to syllable, etching it as well as he could in his mind.

By the end of the day, Harry Potter was bone-weary, each and every muscle he owned (or so he thought), screaming in pain. "Are you injured?" Snape asked, his soft voice yet crisp in the humid summer air.

Harry Potter stretched, and looked up at Snape, who loomed over him. "I don't think so, sir. Just very, very sore."

Snape nodded, "Good, no whinging. Let's see that spell then."

Harry Potter summoned what energy he had left, and spelled... only to have nothing at all happen.

"You'll have to do better than that, Potter. Get some rest - make a bivy if you like." Snape curled up into a black ball of wool, backed by a tree. Harry Potter had lost all will to move, at last, and he fell asleep dreaming of the spell, each moment sculpted in his mind.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Severus Snape unfurled himself, finding a bush to water, and then striding back, pausing only a moment to inspect Potter's spellwork. Not that Potter had managed to learn a new wand overnight, no. This was far more elemental magic than that - a field Severus Snape was adept at reading. Still as a stalking cat, Severus read the wariness, the cocked ear to danger... and the implicit trust. Severus allowed himself to briefly consider pinching Potter's ear awake, and yet Potter did not stir. This was not the sort of magic to depend on alertness - it _was_ magical alertness, personified. Severus Snape knew his own was far more wary, far more sensitive to gentle turns of thought - his drunken father had needed only a single breath to change from doting to drunken devil. Typical of a Gryffindor, Snape thought, Harry Potter's awareness is blunt. Still, Severus Snape wagered, it had a wariness that Granger's friendly face would never have. At least he hoped, in a dark corner of his mind where he let himself hope things that will not be. War was on the horizon, and war etched more than man's souls.

* * *

Potter awoke with a groan, his stretching making all of his joints pop. "Still want to be a hero, Potter?" Snape's silken voice rasped out.

"What's the point? I'm not the boy in the prophecy, am i?" Harry looked at Snape with a defiant gleam in his eye. "Sir." he added belatedly.

Snape let it pass, "Ask that young ginger girl - the one completely besotted with you - what's the point, hmmm...?"

Harry paused, considering, "You're right, sir." and with a twist of his lips, "Fame isn't everything."

Snape said dryly, "You've chosen the way of the hero, lad. May you live to regret it."

Not saying a word, Potter looked at Snape's ugly mug, silently, waiting for him to continue.

"Being a hero comes with costs, expectations. Were it my decision, I'd ban you from even considering command."

"What if I don't want to be a hero, sir?" Potter said.

"Doesn't matter. Either you play to the expectations, or you let people down. And cede authority while doing so, I might add."

"Stuck both ways, aren't I, sir?"

"Indeed. The definition of a hero is valiant to the point of sheer stupidity. Few heroes survive, James Potter included." Snape's voice turned to acid by the end, but that just left Harry reflecting on how civil he had been.

Snape's smile was cruel, "So, we shall start your lessons on heroing, now, that you may live to rue your younger stupidity." Snape conjured a heavy sack. "Here, this is your golem - your fake human, that you'll be dragging across the battlefield. Under fire, of course." Snape's smile was cruel.

Harry Potter knew he was in trouble from the first moment he had heard the word hero come out of Snape's mouth, the dread blossoming in his conversation. Oh, but he had never expected this! Not in a million billion years! Half blind from smoke, and with a useless leg and a half-functional arm (dislocated), Harry Potter dragged the bag across the field, knowing that he wasn't fast enough to dodge the hexes Snape was throwing at him.

At the end of the field, his destination reached, Harry Potter looked at Snape and asked one question, "Why?" At Snape's arched eyebrow, Harry added, "sir."

"The goal of this exercise is hardly for me to win simply because I'm better than you. Pain tolerance. You must learn to work through the pain, push it to the back of your mind and make yourself go despite the bones rubbing themselves together, despite the bloom of blood in your gut or thigh."

"Thank you sir." Harry Potter's posture was crisp and correct.

At the end of the day, Harry Potter couldn't correctly produce either of the spells, although Snape said, "You're adjusting to the wand. Another day or two."

_Ruddy bastard, _Harry Potter thought. Treating me like I should be able to do a spell in a day, and then not really meaning it.

* * *

On Friday Afternoon, Dumbledore arrived, and wouldn't you know it, the first thing Snape said was, "This will be fairly boring, I'm afraid, Albus. Torture's on Tuesdays and Thursdays." And Snape smirked - something Harry was sure Dumbledore would interpret as "of course, i'm not torturing the poor lad." Dumbledore had rather a history of thinking the best of people, after all. At least Harry's arms had stopped shaking - about an hour ago, which Snape probably had timed to the minute (so that Dumbledore wouldn't see _actual_ evidence of torture).

Yesterday had started early - which was to say, Snape had actually let him sleep in until false dawn. Upon waking and seeing the horizon, Harry's stomach turned. Any particular kindness from Snape was an illusion - and this one in particular boded ill. In three minutes, Harry was standing, teeth brushed, and looking remotely presentable (for a man with a single set of clothing, who had turned it white with sweat yesterday*).

"Have you ever endured the Crucio?" Snape asked, in a deceptively mild voice. Snape was many things, but mild was _never_ one of them.

"Yes, Sir." Harry Potter said firmly, his eyes widening slightly at the question.

"Today, I will provide an opportunity for you to learn how to endure it _effectively_. It is your choice, I will not force this on any man." Snape's hair flowed over half his face, neatly obscuring any expression - did he plan it that way, or was it just long habit?

"What will this entail, sir?" Harry Potter asked, suppressing a wry smile about _Harry Potter_ of all people learning patience, "And why would I wish to learn this?" There, the question he had wanted to ask, but asked second, so as not to sound quite so petulant. Or stupid. Harry rather thought Snape disliked stupidity more than petulance, if Draco Malfoy was any indication.

Snape nodded, his black eyes revealing nothing, as his eyes raked Harry from toe to head. "You'll have the sack again. Move it 100 yards, under the Crucio. Even Death Eaters tend to assume that using the Crucio is enough to render one helpless. I have learned, through long experience, _never_ to be helpless if I can help it."

Harry Potter looked at Snape, remembering that James Potter was a good deal of the reason for Snape's reluctance to be helpless. Not that Harry was any _more_ likely to bend over and take it, as it were. "Sir, all those times when I saw you twitching under the Dark Lord's Crucio - you were just _pretending_?" A distracting question, the answer already known, but it gave Harry a bit of breathing room to consider what the hell he thought he was doing.

"Indeed. An advantage is hardly hidden if everyone knows about it."

"I'll learn. Let's get started, sir."

If Harry had thought Tuesday was bad, this was ... loads worse. Of course, Tuesday hadn't been temporary. That was one benefit of the Crucio - afterwards, his muscles still functioned, his bones were still whole. Under the crucio, it was a struggle not to soil oneself, let alone stand (or, in Harry's case, crawl). Again and again, Harry Potter tried, sometimes doing a bit better, sometimes, a bit worse. His world had shrunk, until pain was everywhere,and nowhere, red ghostly blurs dancing in front of his eyes. "Sir! Sir!" Harry asked, his voice clear and firm - he needed a break, but wasn't going to get one if he seemed weak. _Heroes aren't weak_ Harry could hear Snape saying, followed up with, _Your choice, now live up to it_.

"Yes, Potter." Snape rapped out, seeming cross without the substance behind the semblance.

"How did you learn this, sir? Who taught you?"

"A mirror spell, and the determination to pull it off." Snape said coldly, his usual purr absent entirely from his voice. Harry Potter was momentarily speechless - that could have killed him, driven him insane. If only he knew how to cancel the spell, and he was suffering from it... Harry saw for a brief moment the desperation on a younger Snape's face (was it a memory, surfacing? Harry didn't know...).

"Crucio" - and the world dissolved in pain again.

Harry Potter waved goodbye to Dumbledore, as he set about running around the wood - entirely unordered to. It seemed Dumbledore and Snape had business, and Harry didn't need the temptation to eavesdrop. He focused on the spell of the day, thinking that at least yesterday he had manage to send a hex, even if it wasn't quite the desired one - turning Snape's face into some sort of scaled monstrosity had _not_ made the man any easier to deal with.

* * *

The second week started before the crack of dawn, a time that Harry Potter hated just as much as Severus Snape did... or nearly, at least. Snape seemed to have abysmal depths to his hatred.

"Get ready to run, Potter" Snape said, and as Potter began to disrobe, Snape did likewise. At Potter's questioning look, Snape quirked the corner of his mouth, "Running helps you think, and it happens that I have thinking to do as well."

By the end of the day, Potter thought that it was worse when Snape ran alongside him. For one thing, Snape never faltered, never tripped, and always had enough breath to call him out if he did anything sloppy or stupid. Running behind Snape was even worse, for fear that if he lost sight of the man, he'd never see him again. "Spells, all of them." Snape rapped out, his voice as crisp as a snapping ruler. Despite the fact that he was bone tired, Potter started to cast, trying to ignore the fact that some spells seemed to come to him better than others. _He had to learn. _Harry knew better than to protest at how tired he was. He had tried that the third day, and had gotten only, "If you can't fight after a short hike, you don't deserve to be in the field." Short hike, of course, being thirty miles.**

The week got better, at least from the perspective of Harry filling out - Snape was still the invulnerable, invincible, indomitable machine... and Potter was still tripping over his own two feet. It was infuriating.

Dumbledore showed up at the end of the week, and Harry was trying to figure out why he was feeling a bit more cautious around the man. Snape broke off from their run to talk with Dumbledore, and - to an unheard question, responded, "I can't play the immovable mountain forever, can I? The unstoppable boulder is more fearsome, anyway."

The next day, Snape simply looked at Potter and said, "Amuse yourself. I will be back tommorrow." Potter stood, still exhausted from yesterday - but too paranoid to not start stretching - one never knew when Snape would return, and "amuse yourself" did not mean "sleep till noon."

* * *

Third week dawned darkly, the sky consumed in clouds that reeked of gloom - the threat of rain everpresent; the air stank of plants opening for their morning drink. Potter was up early, bending and stretching - hard-earned lessons for the keen of eye (he had caught Snape stretching before a run, and decided that it was better to _Not waste his time_.).

Snape seemed to stand up like an umbrella unfolding - one moment coiled in a ball under his cloak, the next - on his feet. Potter straightened into a rough semblance of parade rest, and watched his teacher carefully. "I think it's about time we dispensed with the preliminaries, don't you, Potter?"

Potter eyed Snape warily - the bastard had a way with words, making even the simplest of request sound dire and dangerous... - and this was far from just a simple request. Luckily, Snape didn't seem to mind Potter considering his words for a moment. "I do not know, sir. You're the teacher, I'll follow your lead." To tell the truth, after weeks of grueling physical activity, Harry was rather looking forward to _anything_ else.

"James Potter was a fool from the moment I met him, to the moment I last laid eyes on him - and I hardly think he changed in the few weeks before he died. He was a brave fool, surely. See that you don't follow in his footsteps, or they'll be calling you _martyr,_ not _hero._" Snape's voice was bloody hypnotic, Harry thought, listening to it like a cat on the prowl, brushing against him, and then slashing with sharp claws. His voice had turned cruel at the word martyr, and it was positively scathing at the word hero. Harry found his fists, for the first time in ages, curling into balls. Not because of the assessment, but because he was _sick and tired_ of hearing about his father. Harry got it - his father had been a right nasty piece of work towards Snape, who undoubtedly had been just as unpleasant as he was now back then. A subtle thought threaded through his anger, _If he truly thought you were arrogant, he wouldn't be warning you at all._

Snape's voice turned firm, almost hinting at demanding, "Your mother, on the other hand... _She_ was a talented witch, deft with a wand. Not even the Dark Lord would dare to say that she wasn't competent. I'll certainly not be the first." Potter's hands had gone flat against his sides, the shock neatly squelching the anger. _Nobody_ ever talks about my mother... Potter thought.

Snape's next words broke Harry's train of thought, "If you have half her talent - and Lupin says you're decent enough - you might make it through a battle or two." _Right, back to business then._ Harry thought contemplatively.

"Tell me the difference between a battle and a duel, Potter."

"Yes, sir. A duel is an organized sport between two wizards, a competition if you will. A battle is a disorganized mess best dealt with by killing as many opponents as you can."

"Well done. How many ways can you kill a person, Potter?"

Harry began to list spell after spell, at last running dry, his answers coming in drips and drabs. Snape whipped out his wand, casting the tickling curse at Harry, whose serious face broke out in the first smile he'd had in weeks (other than the fake ones for Dumbledore - not that this one wasn't faked as well). As Potter struggled to stay upright, Snape leaped into action, punching him in the gut, and then on the shoulder, and then aiming one for the groin - that Potter managed to whirl slightly away from (the blow landing on his leg). Snape stepped back abruptly, and Potter swayed on his feet at the loss of the hail of blows (it had been helping keep him upright). "Have I made my point?"

"Yes sir." Harry said, relaxing into parade rest stance, which he shortly discovered made it very difficult to get to your wand.

"No mercy, Potter" Snape said, with a grin three shades too menacing to be properly gleeful.

"Same to you sir." Potter sent back, his grin quite a bit more genuine, as hexes filled the air.

It was two days later, and Potter was puffing up a hill when Snape sent him a gift-wrapped hex, which he, of course, dodged. _Straight_ into a tree. _.Ow. No use thinking that he'd show some compassion, it's Snape, for goodness sakes!_ Snape had continued running, and Potter doggedly got to his feet, knowing there'd be hell to pay if he didn't catch up before the lap was over.

Coming down the hill on the other side, Potter was blindsided by an acidic hex, bubbles springing up over his left arm, as he fell, his mouth open in a silent scream. Muttering to himself, he cast the mending charm, and was gratified to see most of the physical damage fading. The pain, however, had left afterimages in his vision, and he _really_ didn't want to be running with white ghosts dancing in front of his eyes - he was liable to hurt something, and that would impede his _actual_ training. Potter's eyes widened, as he pulled a desperate ploy out of nowhere. "Snape, sir, what are you hiding? What do you know, that everyone else doesn't?"

As hoped, Snape strode out from behind the tree he had been using to screen his presence. He looked furious, but as that was nearly normal, Potter didn't pay it much heed. "Have you never heard the saying, _Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead _? If I wanted to tell you, I would. It's no use asking me to change my mind." By this point, Potter had gotten to his sore feet. Swaying, he shook his head to at least clear his vision. It helped... a little. He didn't say a word as Snape continued in his easy lope, though Harry was certainly quite jealous of the older man's long stride. _Why did I have to be so short?_

* * *

Snape's nostrils flared with displeasure, as he looked down at Potter. "Cast the spell I taught you this morning." Snape said. Potter made to get wearily to his feet, when Snape drawled, "You can cast as well on the ground as standing, I trust." Potter looked at him carefully, mistrustful of this unexpected kindness, "Yes sir." Wearily, he performed the spell - a chained matrix between an absorbent shield, and a silent alarm spell. Snape nodded curtly as Potter performed the spell properly the first time. It was the closest thing to approval the mordant man seemed willing to give.

"Sit up, Potter." Snape said, and launched into a lecture. "It has long troubled me that the Patronus spell is taught in the Defense against the Dark Arts curriculum. Teaching it there encourages lazy thinking, and leaves the exploration of the spell to only the most inquisitive of pupils. Tell me how you _think_ the spell works, Potter."

Harry Potter had learned a thing or two about dealing with Snape. Unlike Moody, he was patient - up to a very brief point, so Potter spent a moment gathering his thoughts. "It's a spell more done by the mind than by magick, sir. It binds your happiest memory into a form where it can protect you from the influence of Dementors."

"You prove my point so aptly, Potter." Snape said, his mouth slightly softening from its usual hard line. "A patronus has many uses, from casting light (a remarkably inefficient use), to providing an unhittable distraction, to sending messages to your allies or enemies." Harry Potter looked at Snape, glad for once that this wasn't technical enough that he wanted parchment for notes.

"Any happy, joyous, gleeful memory will do. Taught in Defense against the Dark Arts, people are encouraged to turn to their happiest memory, which is well and good when you are defending against Dementors. But it's hardly the only way to use the spell." Snape purred, "Allow me to demonstrate."

Snape's dark wand moved in the intricate pattern for the Patronus spell, and before them stood a silvery doe. "My happiest memory comes from when I was nine. Simple, childlike joy tends to be most people's happiest memory." Shrewdly, Snape studied Potter a moment, before continuing, "You may find your happiest memory when you first discovered magic was real, or when you first saw Hogwarts for the first time." Harry knew it was neither of those, tainted by fear or preoccupied with other things. No, for him it would be his first flying lesson, diving for Neville's rememberall - outrage and indignation tossed aside by the sheer joy of flight, with just a dash of righteousness.

"Serenity will serve as well, in a pinch." Snape said, as he summoned a different patronus - a wispy bat.

"Triumph - pure triumph, untainted by malicious intent," Snape said, as he summoned a white tiger, the black stripes making it half-invisible.

"Protectiveness, unselfish and true." Snape said, summoning a mongoose. He laid down a hand, and the mongoose curled up his arm. "The spectral animals move as real animals would - have you noticed?" Snape's voice was unaccustomedly soft, almost as if he didn't want to scare the patronus. "This one, for example, can dig - the bat can, of course, fly adeptly."

"You will need to learn to cast quite a few patronii, Potter. Take some time tonight and tomorrow, and we shall see what you've accomplished. Make sure you know your memory thoroughly, don't muddle it with two or three."

"Yes sir."

Snape cast again, his patronus a dog - wait, Harry squinted - was that a Grim? He looked askance at Snape, who smirked, "And that's one that you're too young for yet." With a wave of his wand, Snape set off at a steady lope - and Harry followed a moment later.

_What could he possibly mean?_ It took him three strides before it hit him - _sex_. But, um, why would Snape say that he was too young for sex? Harry took another twenty strides while pondering that one. _Oh, he doesn't want to..._ "Yes sir, definitely too young for that." Potter said crisply, and Snape sent him a sly glance.

Snape responded in that purr of his, "A good thing too, I don't think I could possibly explain the questions a Gryffindor might dream up."

The thought of Snape sitting him down for a talk on the birds and the bees was equally appalling to Harry. Quietly, playfully, Harry Potter said, "I think I'd have trouble understanding the subtlety of a Slytherin anyway, sir." To this, Snape snorted.

"As your father is unlikely," Here Snape's mouth quirked, "to be of much assistance, you might try asking Mr. Weasley. He's certainly given the talk to enough Gryffindors, I doubt you could ask anything that would surprise him."

"I might take that advice, sir." Harry Potter said, thinking that locker room chats were good enough about a lot of things, but perhaps an adult perspective might provide a different view on things. If nothing else, it couldn't hurt.

Harry Potter was out of breath, which was bad.

Harry Potter was sinking into quicksand, which was worse.

Harry Potter saw Severus Snape dangling from a tree above him, and he knew true terror.

Adrenalin, when one has cause to need it, is quite good at ridding oneself of pain, and giving yourself a second wind. Which, all in all, was a very good thing for one trainee Harry Potter, as he rolled and doggiepaddled, and otherwise desperately tried to get himself clear of his mentor's wand, all the while Snape made various leaves and sticks around Potter explode. Harry knew this was Snape's way of making this particular torture session... memorable, that if Snape had wanted to, he'd have left Harry Potter for dead, sinking slowly beneath the quicksand. Or if Snape merely wanted to muss his black robes with the brown slithering sands. Snape, even with sweat dripping off his brow, managed to not be a drop more pinked than his normal sallow complexion - and his keen eyes saw everything.

* * *

Jogging (he hadn't gotten the hang of Snape's lope) in his sodden robes, Harry wished he had gotten half the cleaning charms that the witches seemed to know automatically. _Pity you were trying to not die, hmph!_ His mind rejoined. Harry was working on targeting, while keeping his shield spell up - while running, of course. Harry Potter would have been tempted to ask, _What is the point of all this?, _if he wasn't sure that would have Snape chopping him to bits to use for potions ingredients. _Patience_, if not honey, might bear some fruit... Moments later, all thoughts of Patience had flown out of his mind, just as his breath had flown his body._ Owww..._ that blow to the solar plexus hurt. _Just five minutes..._ Potter thought desperately, and, as is usually the case, managed to pull a moderately daring (if not especially responsible) scheme out of his arse.

"Sir, did you really promise the Weasley twins that if they didn't learn enough, you'd visit such dastardly pranks on their heads that they'd nevermore rise from shame?"

"Close enough, Potter." Snape said, eyeing Harry Potter with a keenness that assured Harry that he wasn't getting away with anything that Snape didn't want him to get away with. "Time was, I was quite good at pranks. A matter of survival, you understand, with the Marauders about - gave them a bit of a reason to be cautious, it did." Harry Potter listened quietly, wondering if he had managed to pick up any of Snape's listening intensity. "You don't believe me, do you, Potter?" Snape said, his voice cooling slightly.

"Sirius... Lupin never mentioned a thing about it, sir." Harry Potter said softly, careful to not sound defiant - the care making his voice sound more hesitant than anything.

"They wouldn't, not on their life." Severus Snape said, a strong sense of satisfaction purring through his low voice. "Blinky! The Royal file if you please." A moment later, there was a Tyrian Purple folder in his hand, and he flipped it, opening it so that all the photographs were facing down. "Pick a picture, any picture."

"You took photographs, sir?" Harry said, looking at Severus Snape warily. He selected a photograph that showed Potter and Sirius with pacifiers in their mouths, trying to hide what looked like enormous boners (probably magically enhanced, Potter thought to himself) inside the diapers they were currently wearing.

"The Marauders were always showing off to each other, Potter. They never had the need. But, as you might imagine, my friends tended to be a trifle more serious. So I took photographs to remember the sense of victory. Besides, who really wanted to be lectured on just retribution?" Snape's voice didn't change in the slightest, and yet by intonation and speed alone, he achieved a completely different feel to his voice. "Severus, you _can't_ keep going after them! You're just encouraging them to come up with more vile pranks! They're in my house for god's sake, I know them well enough to know _that_!" Harry Potter fought down a smirk at the tone, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head at the idea of _Snape_, of all people, having a friend in Gryffindor. At least it wasn't Pettigrew, Harry was sure. _Who was he?_ Potter thought, and then shook his head. _Ask later._

"On your feet, Potter," Snape snapped and Harry sprung to his feet, "Breaktime's over, now let's make sure you earn it." And three spells shot out at Potter from three different directions - he nearly turned himself into a pretzel while dodging, only to be hit from one directly above him. It burned a bit, but not too much. "Faster," Snape cried, and the hunt was on.


	2. Twinscapades

It felt odd for Harry Potter to be striding back into Grimmauld Place - the dark building feeling suddenly twice as cramped. He wasn't a minute in before the arguing started. It wasn't Snape's fault - as usual. Moody - of all people! - was boasting about what a solid member of the Order Miss Granger would make. Molly Weasley took exception to this, and started to wail (because she really wasn't arguing) that they weren't ready to be members yet! They were too young!

Harry's patience was fraying with every word of that timeworn argument - what had been the _point_ of training them, if not to let them join? A discrete look up at Snape [a/n: Harry had no idea how much he looked like a dog looking warily at its master] gave Harry the idea that Snape's patience was threadbare. Abruptly, Snape stalked to a corner of the room, waiting for the rest of the trainers and trainees to arrive. Augusta and her grandson came through, each giving the room the gimlet eye before settling down at the table.

As was typical for the order, there was no set placement at the table, and the newfound profusion of young men and women made the whole meeting room even more cramped than usual.

Ten minutes had gone by, and Molly Weasley was still arguing. At last, Lupin and the Twins spilled through the door, still blackened from the floo - or another disaster of an experiment. Harry was in the middle of the room, sitting in a seat cattycorner to Dumbledore, his head on the table and his eyes closed softly. "Look at him, he looks so cute and innocent there!" someone squealed - which would have been fine if it was Gin, but it was Molly, who was determined to mollycoddle them until they graduated, at least. Rather than sitting up and shooting her a glare, Harry considered what he'd have to do in order to target one of the spells he'd learnt this summer towards Molly. Several thoughts came,and he chased them down with a vengeance, before finally thinking how fun it would be to simply, while still laying down, fling a quill at her, spattering her lovely umber dress with ink. Perhaps it might improve the dress, even.

Snape spoke up, in a tone that bristled with danger, "Care for a wager, Mrs. Arthur Weasley?" his soft purr of a voice was stilted with formality. Even so, Molly heard him and quieted down.

It was Arthur, sworn to uphold his ladywife in everything she wanted - or maybe it just seemed that way, who spoke up next. "What's the wager?"

"I propose a demonstration of how well these children have been taught. Should they be successful, they may all join the Order. Should they be unsuccessful, there will be consequences." The last word was uttered darkly, as Snape's gaze seemed, strikingly nonchalantly, to land on Lupin.

"You'll name the scenario, won't you?" Moody asked, his grizzled appearance sharp with the glee for a good fight.

"Urban combat. Capture the flag, if you will, with - Potter, grab me a trophy -" Snape snapped at Harry, who leaped to his feet, finding a "Best Player" trophy (that he rather suspected wasn't about Quiddich), and bringing it back with better decorum. "This as the flag."

"Just one?" Moody asked.

"Indeed. All the members of the Order versus Fred and George." Snape looked at the twins, and then frowned. "Or is it George and then Fred?" Irritably, he said, "It hardly matters. The Weasley twins, in whatever order and name they like." Lupin was trying not to gawk like a ten year old at Snape. Plainly, he'd have bet all his gold in Gringotts that Snape wouldn't have chosen the Weasley twins for this exercise.

"Confident, aren't you?" Tonks said with a grin.

"Will you take the bet?" Snape asked, his voice and face pointing towards Arthur Weasley, but his eyes on Molly and Dumbledore.

With an audible sniff, Molly Weasley said, "Yes!"

Dumbledore laughed a belly laugh, and then said, "This should be interesting."

Snape looked at the twins and said clearly, "Room of Requirement, twenty minutes. Don't be late."

* * *

Basking on the couch in feigned stupor, Harry's not-so-tired eyes slid half shut - noting as they did that the twins were whirling their way upstairs, the conversation as usual carried on half silently, in a code that the twins only knew - and used primarily for pranks.

_What was Snape thinking?_ Harry had thought at first, watching him - and he swore that Snape had said something to Lupin using his long fingers before they had stepped through the floo. This had all the hallmarks of a trap - but who was the trap's jaws poised to spring closed around? Thoughts swirled in Harry's head, and he faintly thought he understood - he felt the pieces configure themselves to leave the smallest gaps. Snape _wouldn't_ choose something that would cost him credibility. He wouldn't like to seem _foolish_... And therefore the play he was making was likely true as a Slytherin could make it. While a Slytherin could come up with thousands of plans, eventually he had to _execute_ one.

Lifting his eyelids with careful slowness - Harry had had plenty of experience with being utterly exhausted, it was an easy act to pull off, he asked, "Anyone want to bet on the outcome?"

By the time the twins bounded down the stairs - hefting sacks jiggling suspiciously, though Harry thought that what was attached to their belts was likely to wreck more destruction, Harry called out laconically "I've got fifteen galleons riding on you! Don't let me down"

"Flattered we are" Gred said, "But you needn't worry" Forge continued, "We've got this one." And they both gave a broad wink, "in the bag!"

* * *

The wait was horrible - at least for most of the young people waiting at Grimmauld Place. Harry Potter was unconcerned, and looked like he was drifting off to sleep, remembering the discussion he had had with the Potions Master yesterday.

He had woken at dawn, and found the Potions Master leaning over him, as he rolled away, grabbing for his wand in a panic. "No training today, Potter." The grin on Snape's face was fearsome. "Or rather, it's a different sort of training I have in mind..." Snape's drawl was practically a purr, and Harry had to suppress a shiver of fear. _Whatever happens, he's NOT going to kill me! I hope. _Harry simply looked at him, letting the attentive silence answer Snape's unasked question with its own patient curiosity. "Today, we'll train your mind, not your body." Harry suppressed a sigh - he had gotten rather _good_ at training his body. This was likely to be unpleasant, if not exactly painful.

"Have you any idea what I've trained you to be, these last two months?" Snape said, his body still looming over Harry even as Potter stood to loose attention - parade rest, the muggle world would have termed it.

"An Order Member?" Harry asked, choosing the safe answer rather than anything else - because he truly didn't have another answer.

"A safe answer, but wrong. You've been trained to be a hero" - no one but Snape could twist that word into a foul travesty of what any Gryffindor would have used it as - "-and a distraction. There's a reason for every spell I've taught you, you know." And Harry found that he really did know - finding the aggressiveness inherent in his training.

"You haven't trained me a bit to work as part of a team, sir."

"You surprise me, Potter. Showing signs of a brain?"

"You want me to fight like a tornado - spinning against everyone around me."

"Almost. Like wildfire - carving a path of destruction through your foes. Whatever you do, Potter, do not stop and fight. I haven't given you any tools for that - strike, and dodge and strike again - each time a new target."

"And when the targets vanish before my eyes?"

"Turn and carve a path anew. If you see someone who you can't help but stand and fight - turn aside. If you do that, you very well might live to talk about a battle or three."

"And if my shield falls?"

"You fall with it, of course. Disillusion yourself if you can on the ground, otherwise, play dead - and spot out your foes. A Patronus or five may turn the tide."

Harry had studied Snape then, the proud, smug man with a mind as twisted as a maze, and eyes as sharp as a knife.

"I don't have any choice, do i?"

"Any choice you have, you've already made, _hero_."

* * *

"I have to do this by myself?" Harry Potter found himself asking, "Sir?", his question just as much for himself as for Snape - the tone more musing. "Hermione - Ron -"

Snape shook his head, saying, "They'll have other things to do. Wager that Granger finds herself a sniper, with Moody teaching her."

Potter nodded, carefully turning over what Snape had said. "It sounds dangerous, sir"

"Since when is a Gryffindor afraid of dangers, no matter how big or small?" Snape's voice was sharp and wry, his black eyes glancing briefly at Potter before turning towards the horizon.

"Since always, sir. It's not that we aren't scared, sir. We're just more afraid of what happens if we don't than if we do." Harry's face quirked into a ghost of a grin.

Snape's hard eyes raked over Potter, in a sharp glance. "Fear is wisdom bred deeper than bone. If you pay attention, it may save your life."

"Yes, sir." Harry Potter responded, and the conversation lapsed into a lull.

After a while, Snape said quietly, "I wouldn't have given you this assignment if I didn't think there was a significant possibility you'd live to tell the tale."

Potter suddenly snorted, "A significant possibility!"

Snape said, "I'm no optimist, you may have noticed. What training I've given you - and any more you pick up along the way, may allow you to survive your first three battles or so." Snape paused, looking briefly out at the woods nearby, the leaves rustling. "Should you live through those, your life expectancy would rise significantly."

[a/n: this isn't vietnam, where most all the greenhorns died. Snape's accordingly not nearly as closed off against "bonding" with the new recruits].

In the silence, Harry puzzled out that he'd have been much more anxious even a few months ago, sitting quietly with Professor Snape like this.

"Slytherins seem to have a hard time trusting other people, sir..." Harry said musingly, "It seems like something we might exploit against _Him_."

"Indeed, were that the case. Turn the thought a little differently - Slytherins like to know the limits of trust. 'Every man has his price.' No Slytherin would work with someone without knowing his price." Snape's half-smile was cold as ice, thinlipped and without a trace of teeth.

"My friends wouldn't betray me!" Harry Potter burst out, his mind wanting to call back the exclamation just as soon as he had said it. That was _not_ the way to get Snape to... well, _anything_.

"Granger's price isn't gold, nor friendship. Hers lies in the simple maxim "Do Good." As with most simple things, it's generally wrong." Snape looked down at Harry Potter. "Do you think if you were about to kill Bellatrix Black, in cold blood, that Hermione would not simply stop you?"

"Of course she would! Sir! I trust her to do what's right!" Harry Potter said, his emotions seething and making him sound more unbalanced than his mind actually was.

"Everyone is wrong sometime, Potter." Snape said, in a cold, sure voice that somehow had the barest trace of gentleness to it, like the flat of a blade. "Granger won't reckon the gain of betraying you - she counts being Good so highly. She will feel that she will count the cost, the pain of betraying you. It won't stop her, though."

"So, what do I do, sir?" Harry Potter said, his tone frustrated.

"First, understand that Hermione Granger prides herself on being intelligent and logical. If there's time, she's likely to give you ample warning if she thinks a course of action is wrong. You needn't guard yourself against her except when time is short, and decisions are critical. Second, use wisdom if you must argue against her - and if wisdom fails, then use logic. And if not logic, then sheer numbers and that Gryffindor stubbornness you seem so unwontedly proud of." Snape rolled his eyes, before continuing, "Third, hope that she learns that Good is a costly choice, and occasionally a mere mirage. That is, after all, what you have teachers for. She has seen some of that, as she has worked with the house elves. The good of freeing them is not balanced well by the emotional suffering of doing so, and may in fact be outweighed by the 'you make yourself feel better at someone else's expense' benefit."

Harry wasn't about to just give this argument to Snape, no matter that he had something of a point with Hermione. The thing was, he trusted her to be more right than he was, to not be swayed by emotion... And yet, Snape was right - even Hermione Granger, smartest witch of the age, could be wrong. Letting her always be right was dangerous...

"I can't pay her price..." Harry said, shaking his head until his hair fell over his eyes, before brushing it back up.

"No, that's not the point. The point is to know someone else, truly." Snape said, his voice cold and contemplative, as if they were sitting in an igloo, rather than on a warm sunny day - and why wasn't Snape _sweating_? Even when he wasn't wearing robes, he always wore black.

"I... shouldn't let Hermione always get her way, should i? Even in the heat of battle, that sure certainty -"

"She won't like being your paladin, no. Particularly if her decisions turn out disasterously. Failing, in the heat of battle, would weaken her immensely." Snape said, the words offered in a slow purr.

Harry Potter found himself a little heartened at the thought of Snape agreeing with his analysis. When Snape had started down this line of reasoning, it had felt like poison - divisive and cruel and painful above all else. Looking again, it still felt skeptical - but the sharpness wasn't cruel, as a sword wasn't cruel - only its wielder. "And Ron?" Harry finally settled on asking, curious as to what Snape would say.

"Ron Weasley doesn't know his own price. Nor does he know what he would pay for it. This is in many ways more dangerous than Granger - with her, you'll know at a glance when you're in trouble - Gryffindors _never_ hide their emotions when it counts." Snape paused with a sneer on his face, before continuing, "His price is fame - ambition worthy of a Slytherin. At least right now. If you held his sister hostage, it might change on a whim."

"He wouldn't betray me to be famous!" Harry Potter cried, his body tensing with a sudden need to be up and away - pounding out his frustration along with the worm of doubt that Snape's words had said.

"Not like Granger would, no. He'd reckon the cost, and the gain. Do you really think that if he was a Seeker you'd have easily made the team? Even though he knows how much you like it?" Snape tented his fingers in front of his face, a lone eyebrow raised as he looked off into the distance.

Potter shook his head in denial... and then thought some more, before looking down at his lap - a submissive move that Harry was unknowingly prone to. Probably from his Uncle's beatings. Looking up, dead on at Snape, he asked coldly, "Alright, what's your price?" His face and body were still, and yet not tense at all - this was Potter truly listening, curiosity overcoming everything else.

Snape's eyebrows rose slightly, as his eyes widened, and he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, "Clever," he said shortly, and then sat there - Harry, as he watched closely, saw thousands of responses dancing through Snape's mind, sorted and discarded. Harry _knew_ that a year ago, he'd have been convinced that meant Snape was lying to him, choosing exactly which words would work best.

Snape's black eyes met Harry's, as he said with a trace of a thinlipped smile, "My freedom." Leaning back, he stretched himself - lanky limbs tossed over his head, before bracing himself, leaving his eyes staring up through the light-spattered treetop overhead. "That's why the Dark Lord can never have a hold on me -despite this:" he rolled up his sleeve, displaying the dark mark. Harry's fingers reached out, all unknowing to touch it. "Better not to touch." Snape said, as he yanked his sleeve down. Snape continued with a smug surety, "_He_ stands between me and everything I've ever wanted."

"What will you do with your freedom?" Potter asked, his voice full of a child's innocence at the myriad choices the adult world offered.

"To Hades if I know, I've been without it too long!" Snape roared, his anger turning into a baritone laugh that he used to wash the rage away.

When the laughter had stilled, and the birds and small creatures had at last begun to creep out of their hiding places, Snape - still looking upwards through the leaves - asked, "Potter, do you hate me?" And Harry Potter had to marvel at his Professor - not a drop of guilt, not a shred of expectation, not a hint of what he was feeling. It was as if he had asked whether Potter liked red tomatoes or green! Not even a classroom voice, just a simple question... As if he didn't care, at all, about the answer... _How_ could Snape not _care_? Harry found himself asking... And then it clicked - this was the question of a man who had thought out all the responses, all the ramifications - who quite possibly had been wondering this question for years. And didn't want to _impose_ that thinking on Potter's genuine response. It was all the odder for anyone to care about what Harry Potter thought - Harry was under no illusions that any of his Gryffindor friends could ask the question as Snape had - it would have been guilt, and an expected answer - and tears and wailing if he didn't give it. Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't have pulled off such neat unconcern. This summer, it had sometimes felt like talking with Snape was like balancing on the edge of a knife. Now, Potter thought, it felt like he was on the tip, blood running down the blade as he paused to think.

Harry at last found what he wanted to say - "For what, sir? Being a rubbish Potions Professor?" He said it lightly, a deft twist to undo some of the tension that had crept into the conversation and seemed to tighten down upon his neck.

"For that, if you like. Or for other things..." Snape said softly, his words a low murmur like that of a distant road.

Harry smirked, not noticing how much like Snape he looked when he did it, "Seems to me that's more Dumbledore's fault than yours, sir. He's the one that gave you the job, and kept you well past when it was of deadly necessity."

"Don't be so sure on that last count, Potter." Snape said softly. "I assure you that I make a quite decent Head of House..."

"And that's a deadly necessity?" Potter asked, his face twisted in thought... "Sir, are you there to keep control over your Slytherins?"

"Among other things, surely. You know Albus better than that, don't you?" Snape's voice curled in mockery -and Potter found that he could half-smile at it, knowing that it was halfway bent against Dumbledore himself.

"Redemption, Rescue, Protection." Harry Potter said, the last word twisting like a knife in his belly. Protection from the Dark Lord had nearly been his undoing, time and again.

"Perhaps you ought to hate me, Potter." Snape continued, implacably, in that obsidian cool drawl of his, that hinted at no emotion at all.

"For what? Lying to me, _sir_? I'm not sure there's anyone who doesn't do that!" Harry Potter found himself laughing, laughing to stop the screaming, the tears, the fury that wanted to unleash all of his emotions at once.

Snape tilted his head, and asked simply, "When did you figure that out?" His eyes burnt brightly in the sunlight, like black flecks from staring into the sun itself.

"Occlumency Practice, sir. You weren't _surprised_ \- at all." Harry sprung to his feet, started pacing about as he spoke, his hands moving in jerky motions as he burnt off excess energy. "Only a fool would stick to beliefs so soundly shattered." Harry's green eyes glared down at Severus Snape, "You, Severus Snape, are nobody's fool."

"Nobody's fool but my own," Snape said, the words light but the meaning bleak and gloomy. "Why would I be surprised? It was partially my fault, after all."

Harry's mouth tried to work, but the words got stuck in his throat. _It didn't fit, what he was saying... this wasn't a man who would do that... sentence a child to an upbringing so like his own. _Harry found himself searching Snape's curiously blank expression.

"WHY!" Harry howled, a yowl that echoed over the meadow, back from the trees.

"It was an evil thing to do - make no mistake about that." Snape paused, and said, "Dumbledore will call it 'for the greater good' - but that's a lie he tells himself so that he may sleep at night. Evil is counted in the tears of women, in the cries of a child alone and uncomforted in a cupboard." Snape paused again, and continued, "I do not know if Dumbledore knew what your family was like - but if he did not, it was a blinkered ignorance, willful - and I strongly urge you not to grant clemency to him for that. I had the distinct displeasure of knowing your family - of recognizing in your family echoes of what had been in my own."

Snape said softly, "I tried to get you away from them, as subtlely as I know how...I told myself that more was not worth the risk..."

"Was it worth it?"

"Only time will tell. Maybe at the end of it all, you can tell me."

"What did you buy with my hunger? With my bruises? My broken bones?" Harry asked, fearless - taking the acidic words of his Professor to heart, and heartened by the honest inherent in them.

"Secrets - secrets that burrow into my flesh, squirming under my skin, until I sometimes begin to wonder if I'm anything but secrets at all." Snape's eyes were blank, and Harry suppressed a shiver. Man, but Snape could be creepy!

"You wanted the truth, Potter. Did you think it would be gleaming silver?" Snape asked, his voice cold.

"no... but!" Harry was almost half a step behind in the conversation, still thinking about Snape letting him stay there. He might be pointlessly cruel, he was often impatient to the point of rage... but something here wasn't adding up.

"There are _reasons_ you haven't been told everything, even when it's your own tale, and you've the right to hear it. Truth is rarely pleasant, and never kind." Snape said. Harry nodded solemnly, if a bit absentmindedly.

"Then tell me the truth - you said you spoke up for me... what did you say?" Harry asked, more hoping to see something accidental in the older man's words than anything else.

"I wouldn't count it as much good done, even if it had worked - you realize? A good deed that costs you little is nearly worthless."

"I still want to hear it." Harry said stubbornly, his implacable green eyes belying the softness of his tone.**

"Very well - it was two years, nearly to the day, from when you had been delivered to the Dursley's doorstep. The fanatical Death Eaters had been captured and imprisoned-"

"Except for Lucius Malfoy" Harry Potter chimed in.

Snape looked down his nose briefly at Harry Potter, and then laughed, his rich baritone ringing in Harry's ears. "Lucius has never been, and never will be a fanatic. He is a power-hungry fool, whose only motivation is aggrandizement and lust for power."

Potter tilted his head, and said, "Sir, if the Light offered him enough money, enough status - he would switch sides?"

Snape said with a sharp-edged smile, "Most likely. And if we hatched a scheme that depended on Malfoy being on Dumbledore's side for a few days, it might be worth it." Potter waited rather than interrupting, "When someone's price is power, they are always on sale to the highest bidder. And the Dark Lord would bid highly to win Malfoy back - it would crush morale if he allowed one of the arch Pureblood Supremacists to leave him, to fight against him."

"What's Draco Malfoy's price, sir?" Potter asked, secretly glad that he managed to keep the twist of hate out of his voice.

Snape said sternly, if kindly enough - for a Snape, "That is adult knowledge you're asking for, child. You'll use it accordingly, or you'll suffer the consequences."

"I think I've had enough detentions for one lifetime, sir." Harry Potter said.

"That has yet to be determined," Snape said, his scowl completely masking the grin he felt - the idea of Potter managing a year without finding some way to need a detention was laughable. "But a man's trouble isn't limited to detentions. Draco Malfoy is the type of person who is unpredictable when pressed - and I needn't tell you how dangerous a Slytherin can be, if properly motivated."

Harry simply nodded, thinking about Draco Malfoy - a more spiteful and arrogant, vindicative boy he'd never known. Dudley wasn't nearly as bad (at least he knew he was fat).

"Draco's weakness, his price, if you will, is his family. More specifically his mother. Trouble her at your peril." Snape said gravely, before smirking, "In school, I have always thought it best that children train themselves - so long as the cubs keep their claws sheathed and the snakes remember not to poison everyone in sight. If you wind up calling him a mama's boy, that's perfectly appropriate. Hurting his parents is well outside the bounds of playful activity."

Harry Potter nodded, thinking wistfully about his father and mother - wishing that he had enough memories of them to care as much as Draco did about his parents.

"Neville Longbottom - there's a child whose price has already been paid, and in full. You've made him belong - with friendship and caring that few have shown to him. You needn't worry about him stabbing you in the back - if he does develop other ambitions, he'll be slow to turn from you."

Eyes wide, Harry Potter looked at Snape - it was one thing for Snape to talk... civilly, with Harry Potter, but to say such _accurate_ things about Neville Longbottom!

With a soundless chuckle, Snape shook his head, "Gryffindors rarely even understand the principles of House Slytherin. The first one is to seek truth, be it acid or bitter. How does anyone expect to be able to lie, if they don't even understand the truth? Tell a lie that someone wants to believe, and they'll fill in the holes for you." Snape's bitter half-smile spoke multitudes - but Harry Potter knew he wasn't understanding a single word.

Snape eyes Harry speculatively, his black eyes glancing up and down. It's a strange look on Snape - one Harry Potter's never seen before. Snape's always seemed so certain, about everything. Ideas, goals, decisions - everything. _What is he thinking about?_

At last, Snape says with a quirked twist to his lips, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop - or so the old saying goes." With a sigh, he stretches - letting the moment itself stretch out - seemingly to infinity. "Merlin knows, you've managed to get up to enough trouble _every single_ year..."

"You can blame Malfoy for my Second Year, you know, sir. It wasn't me that loosed a basilisk on hundreds of schoolchildren." Harry said with a bit of asperity.

Snape's bright glare froze Harry where he sat, "You didn't, not once, try to get help from anyone competent." _Does he just mean himself in that category?_

Harry Potter shook his head, staring away from Snape's glare, into the distance, "First year, sir, we tried to get McGonagall to help us. It might have worked, if we hadn't been so hell-bent on telling her you were after the Stone." Even this far away from everything, Harry kept the reference vague. No sense in making it easy for eavesdroppers, after all.

"You told her what?!" Snape laughed, a deep rumbling sound, "No wonder she sent you packing!"

Tense like a cat, Harry Potter looked at Severus Snape in something approaching wonder, "Sir...You're... you're not upset?"

"I should hope not! The day I can't even baffle eleven year old children is the day I take a vacation." Harry Potter blinked, and started to see a few threads weaving themselves together.

Sidelong, Snape eyed Harry Potter, almost seeming to watch the thoughts assemble themselves in the Gryffindor's mind. When they were nearing completion, Snape spoke, "Every year, the Sorting Hat says that Hogwarts needs to create unity between the houses. I'm not -" Snape breaks off, pauses a scant moment, and continues, "None of the teachers can fix the deliberate divisions that we've helped create." Again, that inscrutable, speculative look appeared on Snape's face, "If you want a task next year, think on that. You can even ask for advice, if you like."

"I'd almost have to. How in the world would I get the Slytherins to do _anything_? They seem terribly guarded..." Harry Potter said, his voice considering.

"The direct - the _Gryffindorian_ approach would be to work with Draco Malfoy." Snape said with a hint of a sneer. "Put together a plan, and if you like, I'll help you vet it."

Harry Potter nodded absentmindedly, his brain already turning over ideas.

The floo glowed green, and Snape stuck his head through, saying, "Come on through, there's much to discuss." It had taken Harry only a glance to know that the Weasley twins had won - Snape had such an air of smugness about him, that Harry suddenly wanted to know... well, everything. Harry Potter went from lazing about to at the fireplace in less than three seconds - a rather hardearned habit acquired while living with his relatives, who were apt to demand results with little warning. And it had never done to keep them waiting.

As Harry Potter stepped through (half stumbling, as usual), he steadied himself. Molly Weasley was crying out, "You can't _possibly_ think this battle counts! My two sons against the _entire_ Order!"

"The Order lost, Molly." Snape shot back, his voice cold and calm as ice.

Harry Potter turned, listening to Lupin's cautious question to Severus Snape, "Severus, why are they _glowing_?"

Before Snape could even open his mouth, Fred and George had taken off, doing their bit - "Why yes, George, it does appear you've got a problem!"

Fred responded to his brother, "Oh, but just look at you! Your hair has developed a taste for the rainbow!"

"My hair - just look at your skin!"

Luckily, the rest of the room was saved from more skit by Hermione Granger tumbling into the Room of Requirement - straight into the Weasley twins. It was somewhat comforting to know that she was just as bad - if not worse -at floo travel. Somewhat.

Snape, as usual, looked unamused at the crumpled pile of Gryffindor limbs, as he cleared his throat.

"_Why_ are they changing colors?" this was from McGonagall, and she was not looking amused in the least. She more than anyone knew that transfiguration was not Snape's field.

Affecting an air of nonchalance (his back to a nearby corner as usual), Snape said, "Ahh... that." He paused, letting the entire room's attention focus towards him (including Ron and Gin, who had just entered via the floo - but who both understood the air of anticipation, almost of tension). "That would be a contact poison. Inevitably fatal in 24 hours. Which is ironic, really, since the antidote takes 25 hours to brew. It's called the Chromatic Aberration, and tends to leave victims writhing in agony as they suffocate."

Harry Potter's mouth twitched slightly, thinking, _That was really a bit much, sir! Not everyone cares to know all the details about your field of study._

Molly Weasley, turning as bright red as her hair, said sharply, "Really! Surely Severus, you've got the antidote already brewed."

Snape nodded slowly, saying carefully, "Of course I do - no potioneer would be so careless as to use a poison without access to the antidote." He paused for a barest second, before continuing, "However..."

Arthur Weasley was by this point restraining his wife - and Luna was somehow restraining Ron, _probably with nargles. _The picture of calm, Arthur said, "Go on, Severus" in a kindly voice.

"However, my potion stores are for Order members." Snape smiled, his teeth unseen.

"Why you! You utter bastard!" _There goes Molly Weasley. Off to scream, as she's not going to stop us from becoming Order members. Not now, even if she doesn't approve._

"I suppose the vote to allow young blood into the Order will be unanimous, will it not?" Snape said coldly.

From the other side of the room, Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I daresay it will, Severus." And Harry Potter felt a chill run through him - _so this is what Snape looks like, when he's pushed beyond his breaking point. Vengeance, now served cold._ It was a particularly disturbing thought, because Harry realized (and so did the twins from the looks they were shooting at each other), that they had never seen him like this before... _We only __thought__ he went spare..._

"Severus? A moment..." Lupin said in his gentle voice, as Luna and Nevile stumbled through the floo.

"An excellent idea.! How unusual." Snape purred, in his delight nearly forgetting how to be properly catty towards the werewolf. **

Loudly, Snape said, "I'm afraid everyone is going to have to exit the room of requirement, for a moment. It would appear that the wolf has prepared us all a treat." Harry fought back against a grin at the thought of Lupin preparing doggy treats for everyone. Snape would of course eat them with his everpresent scowl. _Come to think of it, he's been scowling a lot less lately. Probably hard to hold it constantly - and I have been spending a lot of time with him._

Everyone filed out, Moody giving the room a final reproachful glare before stepping out, as if it was its fault that he had lost against two wet-behind-t'-ears lads.

"Allow me," Lupin said kindly, as he stepped through the door into the Room of Requirement. Harry's eyes got wide - it resembled a movie theater! While Harry was gawking, Arthur and Snape had both -somehow- gotten through the door.*** _Snape's glare had probably intimidated Arthur,_ Harry thought, playing the scene over in his head.

Molly bustled the "everlasting gobstopper" twins through, as Hermione began to speak to Neville and Luna, filling them in on what a movie theater was. "Mate?" Ron asked, as he came beside Harry.

Harry said simply, in a tone of wonder, "It's a movie theater... at Hogwarts!"

"What's that?" Ron said - they were the last ones through, and it was a bit crowded beside all the chairs.

"Let Lupin explain." Harry said, as Dumbledore's twinkly eyes caught his unexpectedly.

"If everyone will take a seat." Lupin said, pausing a moment as the twins began levitating theirs, and with a touch more asperity said, "If everyone will sit down on a provided seat." The twins sprawled, their legs straddling the backs of the chairs. "If you put your back against the chair's back, you will be in the expected orientation."

"Oh, we never do the expected!" one of the twins said.

"That's right! Often even the unexpected isn't enough for us." the other said.

"In other words, the impossible, rather than the improbable..." Snape purred from halfway across the room, and Lupin entirely gave up on the twins as a lost cause, throwing up his hands.

"If everyone who wants to watch the information I have prepared would be so kind as to sit down, facing north" Lupin pointed at the twins, who made a face, "unlike the twins who are facing south..."

Everyone filed in, and there were just enough seats for everyone, which left Gin and Art serving as a buffer between Molly and the twins.

"Begin," Lupin said, dramatically clapping his hands together.

Lupin pushed the "play"button, and the reel started to roll. Each and every person from the Order of the Phoenix stepped into the Room of Requirement in turn. As they all divided into their usual divisions, on-the-reel Snape said, "Choose the partners you trust, and take positions you can hold. You have time, so pick well." Around him, Dumbledore's eyes seemed to sparkle, and Moody tottered off, with a suspicious glance towards Snape - a jerk of his head the only thing that attracted Shacklebolt towards him.

"You should halt it, wolf." Snape's voice purred across the darkened room. "We have things to discuss." His voice seemed practically overwhelmed with a feral sort of hunger. **

Lupin pressed the pause button, and said, "As you say, scamp." _A new nickname_, Harry thought, _or at least I think it is. A new beginning perhaps?_

"Well, class, what do you think of the battle so far?" Snape said, and Harry could hear his drawling voice smiling a very wolfish smile.

Vance piped up with a huff, "Why, nothing at all! There's been not a jot of fighting and I don't see why you're wasting my time!"

"Typical impulsive little Gryffindor," Snape's quiet voice stole the floor - somehow even more fearsome in the near darkness. "Now which of you brave Gryffindors wants to answer the question, instead of ignorantly dodging it?"

Gin spoke up, her voice cutting through the twins hushed whispers. "You weren't helping them, sir, were you? You were setting them up to fail."

"What gave you that impression?" Snape's voice was cold, but Harry detected a small trace of smugness. _He's baiting her a bit, wants to see what she's observed._

"You don't want to split up - not against Fred and George. You want to hit them hard, and fast, and take them down."

"Why's that?"

"Because! Because they're creative. Creativity won't guard against 10 stunners, sure... but ... well, you saw! You know!" Gin said, her temper interfering with her ability to communicate.

"Anyone else?"

"Sir?"

"Yes, know-it-all?"

"You picked the battlefield, too. Close combat, close quarters. Maximal interference from multiple attackers. I'm not sure it would have been the best tactic to all bunch together. Maybe if you outflanked them..."

"They didn't question your orders, sir. We're sitting here saying there's a debate, but there they are jumping to, without even a thought to why."

"Better" Snape said, and Potter thought incredulously, _Was that a compliment, or was he saying do better?_

In her dreamy voice, Luna spoke up, "It wasn't them snapping to - you asked them to do what they know - no, what they _wanted_ to do. Of course they weren't going to try and get you to do things they _didn't_ want to do. Even if they were right."

"You didn't look for spies, didn't spare a glance for anything out of the ordinary, did you?" Either Fred or George spoke up, "Maybe we should work on that idea..."

Snape rounded on them, his black robes whirling like a black whirlpool in the near darkness. "And what would you have done differently with the information?"

"Why nothing, Sir Snape. But then again, why should we? You were fighting on our side."

"Sabotage." Moody said, grumbling under his breath, "Simply sabotage. _Why_, Severus, did _you_ choose that as a tactic, with people you hope to work with?"

"It's training. We need to be able to recognize it, so we can take advantage of it." Snape purred.

Ron Weasley cracked a hand down onto his own thigh, the slap ringing as attention turned towards him. He rose slowly, giving Snape the opportunity to say, "Yes, Mr. Weasley?" For once, Harry thought, it wasn't confusing.

Ron had murder in his eyes, a killing intent. "That's ridiculous." he said, his usually laughter-filled voice now throaty with suppressed anger.

"Go on." Snape drawled abruptly, and Harry was oddly reassured. Snape was still in teaching-mode, his ever volatile temper still leashed, even as he let a bare sliver show through his billowing black robes.

"You're not going to sabotage the Death Eaters -" Oddly, it was Hermione who stiffened at this one - her hiss of _Ron!_ dying in her throat, as Ron's voice overrode hers. "Not if you want to live, at any rate."

Snape simply raised an eyebrow, regarding Ron with slightly more interest than he'd ever shown before. It rather looked like a scientist inspecting a bug under the microscope. Only this one still squirmed.

"Slytherins have a reputation for being _both_ deceitful and mistrustful." Harry wondered how Ron could manage to say that without roaring it in anger - but Snape's face merely darkened - that was a nerve, Harry thought, wondering - not for the first time- whether this one was personal or professional. "You could pull off the sabotage, but be torn down by the ambition that surrounds you."

Ron paused a moment, taking a deep breath. "I don't know much about you. But dying like that would be a waste. And that's just not your _style_, sir."

Snape, his expression blank, strode up and back, before he turned to Ron again, "Alternatives?" he asked crisply, and Harry Potter felt himself beginning to relax. At least _someone_ had managed to pass whatever test Snape's mazy mind had devised.

"You play it straight. Teach us that instead. Let competence shield you from envy and ambition."

"A competent plan, straightforward too. Are you not worried that someone would see through it?" Snape said, leaning forward, his hands crossed behind his back.

"No more than they see through anything you do. If they catch even a whisper of you working for the Order, your life is forfeit."

"Indeed. Is there anything else?"

"My brothers weren't wrong, and neither were you. Knowing where the forces start is bloody useful." The room shivered with dry chuckles from many mouths.

"Sit down, Mr. Weasley." Snape said flatly - in a different time, from a different man, it would have sounded kindly, maybe even a bit respectful.

"What have you learned, class, from this exercise?" Snape asked crisply, looking more towards the Order than the students.

"I learned that you're just here to waste our time!" Mrs. Figg said crossly, as Harry's lips pursed, in lieu of a wince. This was not going to be pretty.

Harry Potter looked at the screen, as did nearly everyone in the audience (save Snape, and the Weasley twins, if for different reasons. Snape, because he was watching the audience's reactions, and the Weasley twins because they already knew everything, having been there).

The scene unfolded on the screen, a ramshackle village with alleys and cross streets - and probably a village Green, although that was hardly in evidence. The camera stood in the middle of High Street** and, adding to the oddity, there was a high hedge growing across the entire street. It was hardly something decent for stealth, that was for sure. Then again, the scene depicted was that of a deserted street - were they aping that the people had already been evacuated? It was unclear. Perhaps the Room didn't have enough resources to create an entire town and populate it with citizens.

"Oh my! That's a very great big hedge you've got there, isn't it, Professor Sprout!" One of the Weasley twins sprang to his feet to say.

"We rather thought that Shrinking Violet would make you rather cross with us!"

"Not to mention poor Violet!"

"Why, she might even turn purple!" With rage, one supposed... A few lips in the audience were twitching, but far more faces bore frowns. The elders in the gathering were not overly fond of the Twins in the first place - and their levity was falling like poorly cast stones, sinking lifelessly into the lake. The twins were not ones to shy away from such disapproval, however. One rather had the idea that they relished it.

Above, on the ledge of one of the shoppes, Professor McGonagall napped. Or at least so it appeared. None of her students were the least bit fooled - and few of the elders were either, after they saw her ear twitch.

"Leave nothing but footsteps, take nothing but candid photos!" one twin cried.

"And if you're wise - which we aren't - skip the footsteps as well!" One grinned at the other, and then they said, "Have you got it yet? How do you sneak past a cat?"

The silence in the room crackled with irritation, and yet they let it stretch out. On occasion, even a Gryffindor could match the Slytherin appetite for drama. Especially this lot.

"Why, with Catnap Dust, a light touch, and just a bit of a scamper!" And the film began to roll again (Harry wasn't quite sure how they were doing it, but the simple answer was that the Room was conforming to their expectations and desires). A cloth mouse (complete with stuffing and stiches), crawled across the ledge in front of the cat. For a moment or five, Minerva's eyes were fixed on the mouse, as it moved across. _Checking to see if that's one of them, I bet. _Minerva's eyes fell closed, though her tail was twitching irately.

Then there was a whumphy sound of cloth catching the wind, before cracking straight again - and a soft, glittery - was that lavender - powder settled on Minerva's fine feline pelt. Within a few moments, it was obvious that the Cat was Catching a Nap, if a rather involuntary one.

The film rolled on for about two minutes, and then the Weasley Twins paused it. "Did you catch us?" They accused the audience, hands on their hips. "I think you didn't." Harry quickly glanced around the room, and other than Snape, whose perpetual smugness was less aggravating than usual (as he wasn't holding anything over Harry's head this go round), nearly everyone looked confused.

Lupin spoke up finally, confidence in every solid word. "Half a minute ago or so. You may not have left any footsteps, but you did scuff the shingles."

"Right he is!" One twin called. "Little slow on the uptake, isn't he?" The other responded.

"Just waiting to hear if anyone else knew, before I volunteered."

It seemed Filius Flitwick was up next. He was a sitting duck (okay, not really) in the middle of the street. Harry looked keenly at the diminuitive professor - Hermione had mentioned that he had been a formidable duelist back in the day. How had the twins managed to get past him?

In a nearby alley, the twins were setting up mirrors, bouncing light back and forth. Quietly, they both started chanting a spell. The light changed into sparks, in myriad colors. With a smile, they pulled up one of the mirrors, and sent the stream of cascading sparks out at Flitwick. He was clearly mesmerized, too busy chasing after it, "What charm is this? Oh, look at the pretty colors! How many charms is this? Why can't I see them?" Prof. Flitwick was busy throwing up barricade after barricade, hoping to capture the charm before it exploded into it's intended magical form.

Whistling softly, and looking entirely too casual, the twins walked by, as if nothing was wrong.

_Harry_ hadn't thought anything was wrong, actually. Push the Charms professor's professional interest, and watch him whirl and caper. It took one glance at Hermione to revise that. Was she actually taking notes? Shaking his head, Harry thought wryly that sometimes the Room of Requirement could be too helpful.

As the twins ducked behind cover, the film stopped again. "Did you actually transfigure light?" Snape snapped, his eyes cold. But, thought Harry, the fact that Severus Snape doesn't know what they've done... Harry quietly began to suspect that they had done something impressive

"I think they did!" Prof Mcgonagall said, her tone more shocked than awed.

"Into what did you transform the light?" Asked Dumbledore - and it was moments later before Harry remembered that Dumbledore's specialty had been Transfiguration.

"Into sparkly light!"

"Filius seemed to find it grand." the other twin said swiftly.

For whatever reason, the Order had made a trail of breadcrumbs... or rather, order members, leading towards their goal. Gred and Forge found the next trap in an alley - Electric Sparks fizzled and leaped from one side of the alley to the other. It looked deadly serious, and not truly in keeping with training. Harry approved - and realized Snape would as well, from his smug place in the corner near the screen, arms crossed as usual.

Gred and Forge approached along the sides of the alley, using tossed chaff to determine that the effect was stable and not going to suddenly rush out to hurt them. From sheltered nooks (behind boxes) they began to scan the alley, eventually determining that Fletcher was directly across from them - on the other side of the wooden crates Gred was hiding behind.

They used a "Notice Me" spell on a galleon, and sent it rolling down the middle of the alley. In moments, Fletcher was grabbing for it, and failing to duck a precisely timed stunner.

It took them ten minutes to defuse his field (though Potter was privately sure they could have gone over it), and they carried on, after placing the electric doowiz into one of their expanding pouches.

Unlike the others, Dumbledore stood in the middle of the alley, in his hubris not laying a trap or anything, really. His robes shone, with a steady, low light. The twins whispered to one another behind the barrel, "You think he saw?"

"Not sure, but he's twinkling."

"Assume he saw. Now what?"

"Dumbledore. Transfiguration Master, amused by childish things. Likes to play like he's a dash dafter than he actually is." Harry suddenly noticed that the twins in the room were grinning wide grins, while their Mom was attempting to glare at them. And Snape? he was leaning slightly forward, his perpetual sneer blending smoothly into a smirk. _He knows they got past Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, but he's wondering how. As am I for that matter._

"If you can't baffle them with expertise"

"show them what a smile will do!" the twins chorused, with wide grins.

Behind their barrel, a cavalcade of rubber duckies began to form. Alongside them, a belljar, a cauldron with chicken legs, and a broomstick that sprouted four arms. As they continued to wave their wands, the cascade of completely implausible objects dancing in place behind the barrel. One twin stood (barely turning to avoid a simple stunner), as he waved them all on.

Dumbledore was dumbfounded, a wide grin suddenly sprouting on his face, as the entirety of the parade gathered him along (tossing him up with their hands, and carrying the old man past both twins).

"Bon Voyage, Professor Dumbeldore" The two twins waved, with scarves in their hands.

Dumbledore gave a booming laugh in return, "Best Fun I've had in ages! Well done, you two!"

Molly gave an audible sniff, and sent a glare at Dumbledore, who looked back, grinning and completely unrepentant. "A truly remarkable piece of transfiguration, Misters Weasley" Minerva McGonagall was hear to say. "I'd have had difficulty downing that many implausible objects. It's hard to find a weakness when the object itself is pure fancy."

Next up was Mr. Diggle, and the twins dealt with him by means of a rather complex befuddlement charm - Harry could tell it was complex because of the astonished exclamation Hermione gave, and that Filius Flitwick was nearly bouncing in his chair in glee. Harry, of course, had no clue about exactly how difficult it was - but from the other reactions, he gathered that it was notably difficult and interesting. In that particular brand of interesting that both Hermione and Prof. Flitwick seemed instinctively attracted to, at any rate.

The next trap was a lot more difficult. For one thing, these were the first two who were hiding. Rather surprisingly, Harry thought - didn't anyone know the basics of strategy around here? Perhaps they had all been underestimating the Twins. Or, Harry frowned, perhaps not everyone wanted them kept out of the might explain Dumbledore's positioning - that or he figured his reputation might cause the Twins to stop. If so, he was sorely mistaken.

It was difficult at first to tell who was shooting - red and grass green bolts flew out of narrow, arrow-slit windows in the alley. The twins, taken by surprise, had barely gotten a shield up in time. They were back to back, defending each other, and were quite clearly on the backfoot. "Strategy Bat!"** One twin cried, and the other said, "Time to fly, fools!"***

The camera did not follow the twins running towards the other end of the alley. Instead, Harry heard Arthur's voice, sharper than usual, less diffident, say crisply, "Pursue?" Molly's broad contralto rejoined, "Of course!"

The camera continued on, as Harry felt his heartbeat begin to rise. It was one thing to fight two on one, or two on two, but with two snipers to their back? It was a _risky_ gamble... Harry's breath quickened in anticipation.

"Hey, Prof!"

"ess-or die!"

The twins rattled off, in a semblance of their usual humor, even as they heard the elder Weasleys coming out from behind them.

"Whatcha got for me now, boys?" Lupin asked, his voice casual as his wand in his hand.

"Just This!" The twins cried together, and chucked a dungbomb at his head. It hit, and the smell - made much worse by werewolf senses, had Remus Lupin clawing at his nose.

Quick as a flash the twins galloped by him, and they ducked down the next corner, relieved to not see anyone there. "Think we lost him?" One twin asked.

"I think I lost my nose."

"Teach you to forget the Bobble"

"That's cause I've got more head than you!"

"Oi!"

"Lucky no one's right here,"

"Leprechaun luck." The other twin said.

"You haven't done anything you haven't told me about, have ya?"

"Nope, but look at the hair."

They crept along the side of the alley, peering around a suspicious corner to see Shacklebolt and Tonks, ready and alert.

"Uh, oh, I think I've lost..."

"My marbles!"

Harry Potter couldn't help but smirk at that one - if he wasn't quite imagining it, he thought he saw Snape smirk as well out of the corner of his eye. Harry shook his head, - as the twins started to set up their next "prank" aka battle tactic - he considered. Snape always seemed to smirk, never to smile. Harry considered this a bit more, as it was starting to bug him. It wasn't Sirius's carefree grin - or Ron's - hell, Hermione was serious as anything, and she still smiled. Snape just had this way of taking situations - even victories - and smirking through them. It was arrogance personified. That was all. In a flash, Harry had it - it was arrogance, but it was also the act of someone insecure. Someone much, much more confident in their deeds than in their social standing... a person who relied on deeds for social standing, and seemed to ask of everyone, "didn't you think I could do that? of course i could, I just did." It was odd to even contemplate Snape as unconfident - he seemed to ooze confidence and resolution. And yet, now that Harry had thought about it, it was impossible to unsee.

Marbles spilled out towards Tonks and Shaklebolt, the Twins sending cursory spells at them - Stunners, and a few Aquamentis, just enough to make the entire alley treacherous. Then the wind spells started coming, the twins hunkered down behind barrels, sending windspells out as the aurors conferred, their response being fire. But the marbles and wet were swirling and the twins only shrieked as a nearby barrel was set on fire. A stunner flew by them from behind, and Fred - or was it George, squeaked. One of the twins sent a Protego behind them, the shield not quite strong enough to do more than deflect - and then Harry saw what it was trying to do - take the Stunner and send it toward the other sniper. Was that Arthur or Molly? Harry wasn't quite sure.

Tick, Tock, Tick Tock. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" Moody groused, coming up from behind the aurors. Tonks fell in a heap at Moody's words, her legs knocking Shaklebolt over. As luck (or was that fate?) would have it, Tonks was out for the count. Shacklebolt cursed as he scrambled back up, standing full and straight into a Stunner reflected from a mirror spell above him.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. Kablam!

The entire area exploded into colors, sparkling and flashing and dancing all around them. Green, cerise, Magenta, cyan, brick red, blood red, pine green, royal blue, sandpiper, beige - there were colors Harry hadn't realized even existed, ultramarine and some blackest reds. Blinking, the entire audience attempted to get their vision back (including the twins, who were shouting "I'm blind!" at each other, until they descended into a round of Marco Polo. Amusingly enough, even while blind, they managed to wander the room - entirely due to the fact that Snape was in a corner, and thus not likely to hex them for running him over.) Harry simply lifted his legs when he saw the two twin-shaped shadows approaching.

As everyone's vision resolved, the screen showed five members of the Order of the Phoenix, staring mesmerized at a dipping bird. "How does it work?" Arthur Weasley asked, as the screen faded to black.

The screen flashed brightly again, showing the twins together, inspecting the end of the alleyway, in which there stood a cup, as if it was a courtyard. And, Harry thought, perhaps it was. The building around the court looked surprisingly solid. "Where's Snape?" One twin asked the other.

"Dunno. You want to... "

"Take a risk?"

"Absolutely. We're"

"Gryffindors!"

At that they both ran full tilt for the cup, grabbing it and apparating back to the starting point. An instant later, Snape dropped his Chameleon spell, and winked at the camera, his wand in full view. The screen turned black. Harry Potter blinked, as the room plunged into near darkness. Yes, Snape had been wearing gloves.

"Why was Snape even there, if he wasn't going to fight?" Molly groused.

Harry let his voice rise up, "He did fight. He was the only one who managed to truly hurt them, after all."

"Harrumph" Molly groused. "We'd have taken them on a second try."

"Not the point, Molly," Snape purred in his deadly fashion, "The point was how badly you underestimated them." Harry found himself nodding. If they couldn't even reliably know the strengths - and weaknesses of their own children, why exactly were they so deadset against training them? Harry Potter didn't even want to- now that he knew that it was an option, at any rate - run straight pell mell towards Voldemort. But that was different from letting everyone you cared about run into battle without doing a damn thing. "We could fold bandages" Harry found himself muttering grimly, his mind on a Florence Nightingale flick. Anything was better than sitting around doing nothing.

"It's a quite a good demonstration, Severus." Moody began, his eyes bright with a peculiar sharpness that said that he was well pleased. "I'm persuaded that the Twins might be of use to the Order - if not in battle, then in product development." Snape merely shook his head at the words, his smirk firmly embedded on his face. "And I'll stand for Granger as well - there hasn't been a spell she hasn't managed, and quicker than quite a few Aurors, I'll note." Harry's eyes flicked to Hermione's face, seeing the quiet pride there - and that was a change too. Earlier years would have seen Hermione positively glowing at the grizzled Auror's praise. "However, I can't say the same for the rest of these young fools. And it's all too easy to turn a young fool into a dead one. Severus, you say that these children can handle their own. Prove it with your own charge, at least."

Remus spoke up next, his tone challenging, even if his soft eyes said otherwise. "You've expounded at length on the character flaws of one Mr. Harry Potter. I'd like to see how he's stood up to your tutelage. Prove it indeed."

Molly looked irate, ready to float off like Aunt Marge had done - but Arthur put a hand on her arm, as he said quietly. "Show us, Severus. I must confess you've piqued my interest."

"Well, then, we're all decided," Albus Dumbledore said jovially. "Mr. Potter, do you have any objections to meeting Severus in a duel?"

Harry Potter stood, as much to be seen as to see the people around him. "Objections? No. Conditions, always. First, we'll duel back at Grimmauld Place." Home turf advantage, or at least so it would seem. In reality, the Room of Requirement made Harry a bit uncomfortable - he'd never pushed the room to its limits, and he rather suspected that Prof. Snape _had_. Which meant it gave his opponent an edge, and he was not going to let that happen without trying to avoid it. "Second, it's a fight. Usual rules - until either party yields, or until one is unable to continue. No real Avada Kedavras, simulated only." There was a muttering from the crowd; unusually, it was Neville Longbottom.

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" Neville asked, his doughty form reflecting his doubt.

"We're asking to join a paramilitary organization embroiled in a no-holds-barred fight. Either we're worthy, or we're not. And the old fool's right, I'd better prove it." Harry said, catching the frown that Snape sent him for letting his mouth run off like that.

"If you lose, you'll stay out of the Order?" Molly asked hopefully, her eyes pleading with him to say yes.

"Absolutely not. The Order will judge my skills regardless, and I'll of course abide by the vote." Harry Potter said calmly, his mind wending through a few of the strategies Snape had recommended, if the Order was daft enough to not let the younger warriors in. Abiding by the vote wasn't a promise not to fight... merely not to eavesdrop, or do other childish things to "grown wizards who thought they knew what they were doing" - Harry schooled his face to a more practiced taciturnness - no need to smile and confuse everyone.

Harry was the first one through the door to Grimmauld Place. They'd still need to cover the other rules - the ones about bystanders. The order had asked for a fight, and Harry and Snape intended to give them one. Harry gave one thought to how fatigued Snape had looked - but looking at him stepping through the Floo, Harry was reassured. Not that Snape was not fatigued, but that whatever he was concealing wouldn't interfere with the current scheme.

** only snape gets the ".!" punctuation. It's said as a statement, with the exclamation happening altogether with his eyes.

*** Yes, we're aware that Harry was gawking through the door that the two people just got through. When a person gets bedazzled with old memories and unexpected thoughts, sometimes their awareness fades.


	3. No salt like old salt

Harry Potter remembered lessons he'd never been taught, standing up straight as he eyed the Order members entering the room. He found himself wondering, as the Twins had undoubtedly done ages ago, exactly how he'd take on each of them. Whether he'd win - and whether it would be worth the cost. The lot of them had gathered in the parlour (which strangely had a large desk in the back, as if they didn't have a full study or smoking room. Well, it was the Blacks. Maybe it was for dignity and hauteur), leaving a ten pace space in the center of the room - it crowded with furniture. "Alright, you lot." Harry spoke up crisply, catching the sidealong look from Ron of all people - seemingly not understanding what he was saying. "Anyone who doesn't want to get hurt leaves the room. Anyone who can't protect themselves, leaves the room."

Molly herded Ginny out of the room, and Hermione tugged Ron out. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as most people followed. The twins, apparently, had decided that they were going to stick themselves to the top of the room. "Won't work, you two. Out!" Harry snapped, his voice in a well-practiced parade rest. Making faces at him - and then saluting - the Twins left with as much grace as could be mustered while you were colored all the colors of the rainbow.

Dumbledore was still in the room, and Moody. They were both in corners, and Harry glanced a question at Snape, who nodded firmly. "No spells that leave the room, as best as can be managed. Hermione-" Harry called, "Set a shield, strong as you can make it. Have Ron spell you if needed."

"Yes, sir." Hermione responded, the term not of mockery but of ... pure instinct. Hermione always liked figures of authority, after all - and she recognized just who Harry was copying.

Harry Potter approached the center of the room, as Snape, who had been lounging in a corner - trying his best to look laxadaisical, though Harry had noted his deliberate tensing and releasing of muscles in his arms - approached at his normal stride.

They bowed to each other, eyes tracking the other as their heads lowered. Snape hissed a spell, "Stupefy." Dodging the red spell was child's play, as Harry Potter instinctively dropped into a sideways roll. His wand was already waving, sending a crash of water out at Snape - the flood broad enough to sweep anyone off their feet.

Snape, naturally, wasn't there. He was on the roof, clinging to transfigured handholds. Outside, Harry was dimly aware of people muttering at Snape's "treachery" - hadn't they even listened to the rules? The bow was part of the dance, not something to be done before it. Harry had only briefly touched the forms of a formal duel - and he had specifically said they didn't apply.

Snape sent out a wicked looking slicing hex, and Harry responded by shielding himself, that Protego that they had practiced so often in the DA. He dimly heard Ron's cheering, and Neville's hoot.

Snape sneered at him, thrusting out a dark hex that Harry had only seen him use one time before. Off the floor-immediately, he thought to himself, sparing the thought to transfigure his robes into a spiderman costume.

"Peter, peter, pumpkin eater." Snape snarled, his voice cold. The next hex he sent flew at Harry directly, as Harry concentrated on a finite incantem. He had to time it just so... and get the distance, and volume right. As he dropped to the floor, Harry spat, "Finite Incantem" - and it almost, almost worked. There was only a thin black streak of tar tying his legs to the ground. Without looking, Harry heard Snape approaching, his cruel laughter echoing around the room. Outside, there was only silence.

Fools. Did they think he'd be defeated so easily?

"Ignis" Harry said, his whispered spell setting the tar aflame. He rolled, as he'd been taught, the burn leaving a red welt encircling his leg. Still functional, so bully for him.

Harry sent a whirlwind after Snape, his wand following it with a slight summoning spell. There! He had it.

Snape dealt with the whirlwind - a particular spell to quiet the air, and Harry tensed. Snape started incanting, a long spell that Harry Potter knew well. It was not something he'd expect to see in any battle ever - but that was part of the point. This was a blunt challenge, and Harry raised his wand, beginning to transfigure the ground under Snape's feet. Carefully, carefully, Harry sent out his magic, deliberately undermining the floor. "Avada Kedavra," Harry Potter cast, to the absolute astonishment of everyone in the room (Harry knew it was unlikely to kill Snape, as he hadn't been thinking of Snape in the first place, and magic was all about intent - but of course, Snape wasn't (currently) in his mind.)

Snape ducked into a rough squat, which was exactly what Harry Potter had intended. Because the instant that Snape dodged the curse, the floor gave out beneath him.

Harry Potter struck a pose, looking valiant and vainglorious - except to Moody, who could see Harry's wandwaving. Harry gathered his energy, spun the spell, and held it on the tip of his wand. It was excruciating, and glorious at once.

Snape sprang out of the hole Harry had so kindly dug for him - but not at Harry, as Harry had been expecting. Harry's eyes widened, as he rolled left, taking cover behind a QueenAnne sofa. "Fulgur Catena," Snape bellowed, and Harry flattened himself to the floor, releasing the spell he had cast as he cowered under the ice wall he had meant Snape to run into.

"Petrificus Totalis" Harry said softly, as he sent the hex at the mirror he had arranged to point at the back of Snape's head. And then Harry bolted toward Snape, in a full on attack that was purely Muggle. Snape pivoted at the sound, his face turning into a truly wolfish grin. "Really, Potter?" he asked skeptically - even down a hand from the Petrificus, Snape clearly felt he was more than a match for Potter. Which was probably true, Harry thought - _unless I get in close_.

Harry Potter was running full tilt towards Snape, his mind thinking of three or four much smarter ways to be playing this. However, this was a battle, and faint heart was rarely the optimal solution. The instant Harry saw Snape's half-smirk, he knew he was in trouble. Instead of slowing, or stopping, he accelerated, hoping to be at Snape's hand before the spell was fully formed.

Alas, Snape snapped, "Hevia," and a white shield extended in a dome around him. Harry felt like cursing, quickly incanting, "Bai Kunglong," as a whisper of wind started to roll through the room, thickening and starting to roll the ball that snape was trapped in. Not quickly enough for Harry to not run full into the ball, of course - although his jump onto it left him more flying up and into the ceiling. Harry hit the ceiling with his arm, dumping enough momentum to fall downward, tucking his body into a roll that fell straight into one of the wooden chairs, breaking the back off it. Harry Potter crawled under a desk, and looked cautiously out, the entire room rife with blowing papers and other flotsam (a clock went flying by). Off someplace, Snape was cursing, and Harry idly wondered if one could use a curse as a spell.

Snape cast "Ignis fortuo," and it was as if the entire room lit with ribbons of fire, criscrossing the entirety.

"Typhoon Tazumuddin" Harry snapped, straining to put enough magic into the spell, as it would completely fizzle without the precise amount. The room turned into water and wind, as Harry struggled to his feet. He saw Snape in the middle of the room, and his heart sunk. He's favoring a leg, Harry thought, seeing the offbalanced man straighten to greatest effect. "Finite Incantem" Snape said, pushing as much of his power as he dared into the spell - it didn't always work, but for most light spells, it was a good shot. The whole place calmed, and Harry Potter started, "Expel-"

Snape raised a roiling, blue-purple potion and smirked at Harry Potter.

_Oh, shit. This isn't good._

Snape dropped (okay, flung) the potion to the floor at his feet, the blue-purple smoke writhing out like snakes. Then he swished his wand, flinging it into the wards.

Harry Potter dropped to the floor, trying to avoid the potion. Who knew what Snape's idea of a potion to use in the middle of battle was?

Harry was mentally reviewing everything he knew about potions (a lot) and everything he knew about using them in battle (absolutely nothing). Better safe than sorry, Harry told himself. "Treat it as if it's Longbottom's latest exploded cauldron disaster."

Harry was holding his breath, trying to see if any nearby surfaces were dissolving, or sparkling, or anything that might give a clue as to what Snape had done.

Dryly, Snape said, "Thirty seconds, Mister Potter."

Harry peeked out, one green eye showing from underneath his shaggy hair (which was in his face, again). Snape wasn't smirking. Shite, this was bad.

Well, doing nothing was the lamest way to lose a battle, Harry Potter thought, so he started spelling - It was an obscure spell, and he hoped Snape didn't know the counter. Hermione had found it (of course), and it was brilliant.

In this case, Harry meant that literally. In moments, the room was entirely coated in rainbow colors - and worse, they were moving, dancing. Hermione had called it a magical disco ball... As Harry had said at the time, brilliant.

"Fifteen seconds, Mister Potter."

Harry pooled his magic, starting to change, willing the room's surfaces to transfigure as they colored with the light. White for ice, red for fire, green for acid, blue for water, yellow for shock.

"Ten seconds, Mister Potter." Snape's robes billowed as he loped, springing towards Potter.

Harry looked up, despite his spellwork, ducking quickly to hopefully avoid whatever Snape planned to do. For just as Harry had been going full tilt against Snape, here Snape was plummeting straight at Harry, his face a mask of fury.

Snape crouched right below Potter (quite a feat, considering that Snape was the larger man, and far more lanky), his fist at Potter's chest, clutching at his robes. Snape's other wrist was on Potter's throat, as he channeled the momentum into slamming Potter against the wall.

"One." Snape's low tone whispered from five inches away from Potter's face. Harry was still trying to figure out what _exactly_ was going on...

"Now," Snape said in a voice softer than a whisper, barely a breath. Harry dropped five good inches, as Snape released his fist from Potter's robes.

Harry was choking - the only thing keeping him off the floor was Snape's wrist his neck. _I know this! _Harry thought suddenly, his arm grabbing Snape's, and his whole body rotating, his leg kicking out to land on Snape's belly - off a little, his foot landing on Snape's groin instead. Still, Snape's arm went slack, and that was good, as Harry's vision was starting to go (nothing new there, Uncle Vernon had taught him plenty about slowly reaching unconsciousness). Harry rolled away, launching a stunner at Snape's even paler than usual face.

Snape blocked it almost casually, casting a "Finite incantum" to rid the room of the colors (Harry was actually glad, as that fire really hurt, even if it wasn't actually smoking anything.)

In the ensuing pause, Harry swore he heard Ginny saying, "I told you he was a vampire!" Maybe that had been George, throwing his voice again... Ron chimed in, "Nothing but a Vampire moves that fast." Hermione, bless her soul, was saying, "I don't think it works like that guys..." And Fred was saying, thoughtfully, "I _want_ that potion." Meanwhile, from behind the Queen Anne chair, Harry almost swore that Moody's eye glimmered approving. Which was ridiculous, as Moody wouldn't have approved of Snape bowing to the Queen of England.

Harry tensed, where he was, as he heard the slithering. He sprang, onto the nearest chair (a Queen Anne) and was quite thankful he didn't just fall through. Snape - Harry's jaw fell open, as he saw snakes slithering out of Snape's robes, crawling and falling out of them, as if there was no longer a Snapebody inside, but just snakes, and more snakes. From the corners of his eyes, he could see more snakes, crawling and sliding around the corners of the room. Harry hissed at them, "Hello friends."

...

And they didn't respond. It was then, that Harry knew true fear. Whatever this was, whatever those things were, they weren't snakes. Not real ones, at least. "Stupefy!" Harry shouted, taming a wild shriek into something that would actually spell. The red streak hit Snape square - and nothing happened. Not even a falling, stupefied snake.

"Finite Incantem!" Harry howled, intensely hoarding his magic as he saw the spell uselessly splash outward, the room rippling but nothing changing.

"Finite Incantem!" Harry intoned, his voice low and controlled, but thrumming with the sound. Harry felt a bout of rage boil through his veins.

"Finite Incantem." Snape's silky voice intoned, soft as a whisper - and as penetrating. Harry watched as the snakepit dissolved, leaving a rather battered room with Prof. Snape standing directly in the center.

Harry stared, confused, not sure what had just happened. "Expelliarmus," Snape said, his eyes bright.

Harry didn't even feel a tug. Absolutely nothing, from the wand in his hand. He looked down at it, shook it once, started to gather his magic for a simple "nox" - but before he could cast, he heard Snape's next words.

"Accio stick!" Snape said, looking impossibly smug... as if smug had so completely suffused him that there was no room for thought, for emotion, for anything except smug.

And so, it was no surprise to Harry, that his 'wand' flew through the air and directly into Snape's hand.

Confusion gave way to both panic and fury in equal quantities, and Harry - his mind still clawing at 'what just happened' - reacted with pure blind instinct, diving behind the stout writing desk near the back of the room. For it had been drilled into his head, that battle was time to strategize, to react - but _never_ to think. In his memory, Snape intoned firmly, "thinking will get you killed."

Harry winced, as he heard Snape taking potshots at him - more knocking things off the desk than anything. Was he really doing target practice? Instantly, another thought answered that, "no, you dimwit, he's giving you time to get back in the game."

Hermione's voice sounded behind his ear, telling him excitedly, "Why Harry! You've just been doing wandless magic! Do you have any idea how difficult that is... let alone the spells you were pulling off?"

Harry direly wanted to tell her to shut the hell up, but as he couldn't get through the barrier (trust Hermione to get through), he concentrated on ignoring her. Yes, he was well aware of what wandless magic was. That he was able... that he had... Snape had taught him... and suddenly, Harry had an idea - and he was quite sure that he got the same look that Hermione Granger always got when she had an idea. That bright, "oh, my god, this is going to work!" look.

Quickly, Harry grabbed for the middle desk drawer, smiling at his luck as he pulled out a white quill. He quickly broke off the feathered part...

Harry slowly began to gather not just his magic, but his emotions... Because wasn't wandless magic just a little different from accidental magic?

Snidely, Snape spat, "That will be enough interference, Miss Granger."

Gathering his fury, his hatred of being tricked, his anger at his inadequacy being revealed in the middle of battle, in front of the entire Order, Harry began to shake. Dimly, he was aware of Snape's potshots getting closer - now deliberately breaking chips off the desk.

"Aguamenti!" Harry shouted, as he stood - the word a careful distraction, as he pushed his hands out, wrist to wrist, and unleashed a wall of water - a tsunami.

Snape didn't block it. Instead, he stood his ground and cleaved it, the wedge sending the water out and away from him. Harry was used to the idea.

What Snape wasn't prepared for was the water coming back. He swiftly lost his balance, and fell, making a puddle of black robes that might have been funny if Harry hadn't heard a loud crack.

Snape had just broken his arm.

Snape stood haughtily, lips pressed tight - but Harry didn't give his teacher the moment to gloat. A crash of sound flew from his... quill. Snape blocked it with a shield, and as it rebounded, Harry did the same.

Neither of them missed the shrieks of everyone outside the room. Neither of them cared.

The battle slid into old, familiar terms. Attack, shield, defend, dodge. It wasn't that the battle ended quickly, so much as Harry Potter threw himself into it so fully that he wasn't _thinking_ any longer. It was a dance that demanded full concentration, eyes on the entire room just as much as they rested on his opponent. In short, it was exhausting and enthralling.

Harry Potter heard Snape shout "Stupefy," and Harry dropped to the floor, already anticipating the red stunner. Instead, he found Snape's wand pointing at him, and felt the ropes curling around his body. _What_ had just happened? Without struggling, Harry frantically replayed what he had seen and done. _There!_ he thought, with a cry of defeated victory. Snape hadn't made the _motions_ for Stupefy, after all...

Harry was abruptly jerked back to the present, with Snape's long wand poking him in the jugular. "Your next lesson," Snape said softly. Those normally hard eyes looked at Harry with an ineffable softness, as Snape growled, "Now _yield_."

Harry Potter remembered that they'd discussed this. "I Yield." He said quickly, in a loud voice so that all could hear. Snape nodded, undoing the ropes, and with a tug on Harry's shoulder heaved him to his feet. Snape's dark glance sought out everyone - piercing them with the force of his gaze.

Well, except for Dumbledore, who wordlessly waved the protections away with his wand. The smile on his face was most genial, and he clapped proudly. "Well done, my boys." He said, with enough warmth in his voice to hug an army. Harry paused, considering that he might have in fact done so, during the First War.

"You're using Avada Kedavra in practice duels, now, Death Eater?" Moody crowed, his mouth curling in a rapacious grin.

"Can't have the first instance be on the battlefield, now can we?" Snape shot back, his dark, imposing manner less like a bat and more like a dark mountain.

Ron and Hermione tumbled into the room, congratulations on the tip of their tongues... Before they could say a word, Molly Weasley let out a shriek, saying, "The furniture! The entire room! Gone!"

Harry Potter took a look around the room, his eyes wide. It did appear that their fight had turned most everything into kindling or matchsticks. Smothering a grin, Harry Potter drawled out, "I never liked the colors of the room anyway."

Ron looked at him sharply, and said, "Blimey! You sound just like _Snape_!"

Harry's eyes, though, weren't looking at Ron - they were entirely trained on Lupin, whose face had gone white, as he stumbled - caught very much offguard by Harry's comment. Lupin shot a quick glance at Ron, and then said, "Not Snape... _Sirius_."

"I rather think Snape matched the decor, anyway." Harry said, his eyes sparkling with the smile that didn't reach his lips. Snape let out a rather loud snort, and Harry carefully didn't look at him.

Almost instantly after, Harry was swept up in congratulations by the twins - and practically all the Hogwarts students. He was, actually, rather a bit surprised that Lupin wasn't there to congratulate him too. Harry tried to keep an ear cocked to what the Order members were saying to Snape - he had a distinct feeling that Snape's retorts were a lot more incisive than these bland congratulations. Well, almost all of them were bland, at any rate. Hermione's was babbled at the speed of light, a sense of wonder completely infusing her words. And the twins were, as usual, the twins. Gin swept him up in a "victory hug" and he had to stop himself from lowering his head to rest against her shoulder and inhaling the scent of her hair - that would be _creepy_, he thought chidingly.

Still, the hug seemed to have quieted his celebrants, at least for the moment. Professor Dumbledore, with his eyes sparkling kindly, spoke rather grandly to Professor Snape, "It's good to see you're finally learning to appreciate Harry for his talents." Harry Potter wanted to duck at hearing those words. Wasn't Dumbledore aware that Snape was unlikely to want to discuss any "changes of heart" that he'd had? And particularly, that he wouldn't want Dumbledore taking credit for manipulating them together? Although, Harry thought suddenly, it didn't look like this training was anything of Dumbledore's idea... Now, why do you suppose Professor Snape would voluntarily choose to train Harry Potter?

Snape's eyes held a fury that made even Dumbledore take a hesitant step backwards, as his melodious voice growled, "Gryffindors' only talent is dying well. With _honor_." Snape said the last part mockingly, his dark eyes raking across the primarily Gryffindor students. His eyes took on a determined coldness, settling into resolution as his eyes caught Granger's (filled with a brown fury that she'd never voice), and Snape said, quietly, "Prove me wrong."

Harry thought about what Snape had just said, even as Dumbledore arranged people for the Order Oathswearing. _He always seems to be throwing down a gauntlet at the Gryffindors. I think that actually works, with Hermione at least. _Even more quietly, Harry thought to himself, _How well was that approach working with me, come to think...?_ Harry thought back to a few destroyed classrooms, when he had let loose his rage on things rather than Snape himself. _And yet..._ Harry thought sharply, _That was fourth year, wasn't it? If nothing... nothing else, Snape snapped me back to reality. Not once, not after his class, was I berating myself, too fisted up with mourning to pay attention to anything around me.  
_

Finally, the whole setup was fixed, the Order members in a circle in the now destroyed living room. McGonagall intoned name after name, and Harry was gladdened to hear that they were being done in alphabetical order, so he'd go neither first nor last. When it was his time, he stood in the center, feeling the gentle wisps of fire twine around him as he said the words, "I swear to do all within my power to defeat Voldemort. I will stand with my fellows, and I may fall with them. Yet, as the Phoenix always rises, we will triumph, for our cause is just." Harry felt the power winding around his core, the oath etching itself into his being.

When the last Weasley was sworn in, the group dispersed - most of the Order members leaving for prearranged tasks. As was their custom, the Hogwarts crew stumbled into the kitchen - undoubtedly hungering for Molly's cooking. Harry was one of the last people through the door, and he was mildly surprised to see that Molly wasn't there. He was just about to ask who wanted some eggs (his trials at the Dursley's had taught him eggs to perfection, thank you very much), when Snape stepped out of the shadows, sprawling himself sideways on the chair at the head of the table. Harry forcibly suppressed the urge to jump - even with his invisibility cloak, he wasn't half as sneaky as Snape.

Snape flourished a half-full firewhiskey glass. "Allow me to toast your victory." Snape said in a sardonic voice dark as a death knell. "Today you join the Order, after all."

"Lest you grow complacent in your winning, let us reckon the cost of what you've just lost." Snape's smirk was pitchdark, his humor as malevolent as the unquiet dead - and as spine-chilling, come to think...

"You have, by now, or will shortly lose your innocence. You will come to see friends as pieces on the playing field, and you may need to move them without consideration for anything except their abilities." Snape said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself, though sheer force of habit kept the rest of the room effortlessly quiet.

"In a sense, you have lost friendship as well, and gained in its place a sort of battlefield cameraderie." Snape's eyes glinted knowingly, darting to and fro across the crowded room.

"Sir?" Harry asked quietly, confident that Snape's keen ears would pick his comment out of the hushed room.

"Alastor Moody and I are battlefield companions. We are hardly bosom buddies." Snape said coldly, his mocking words sharp and spiky with icy laughter.

"Have you ever wondered why you've been recruited to the Order? Untested children?" Snape asked, his sharp eyes catching the question dawning in Hermione's face, and the absolute bafflement on Ron's beside her. "I thought not." Snape said with a timetested, weary sigh.

"Children-" Snape said, his eyes catching the warning in Harry's own, as he briefly checked himself, "Adolescents, rather, have a distinct propensity for risk-taking, often to the point of recklessness." Snape's cold eyes raked the room, as if he expected someone not to be listening - or, rather, perhaps he was just hoping for the excuse to call someone out. "It takes a certain recklessness to enter the field of battle, you realize?" Snape's voice had dropped to a purr.

"The Order is composed of children, and people who have nothing left to lose." Snape said coldly, as Harry's gaze shot to Gin, thinking of her mother. "Oh, I suppose you are thinking of Arthur and Molly? They have irresponsible children, you see, and therefore they're in this to be the responsible ones. If you have any say in it at all, don't let them near positions of command. They aren't objective or rational, and can't be counted on to do the right thing for everyone."

Snape smiled a thin smile without teeth, "You have enough votes, collectively, to stop that from happening, should the need arise."

"I shan't tell you which one of you I have picked as the one who will first perish, but I do urge you to gird yourself against the possibility that any one of you may die." Snape said. "I'll tell you an old soldier's curse: 'may you outlive your comrades, their ashes falling through your fingers,' " Snape's eyes were filled, for once instant, with an emotion Harry didn't recognize. _People who have nothing left to lose..._ Harry thought, as Snape continued, "You have months, perhaps a year or two, to continue your training. I will not go easy on you if I find you slacking."

No one quite managed to say a word as Snape rose, his thin frame standing tall above all of them, as he sardonically bowed, "Good luck, comrades. I pray you do not need it." Harry somehow got the feeling that Snape meant that last bit, truly.

* * *

Snape exited the room, and Harry caught Hermione hurrying after him. Harry dodged George's arm to slip out after her. They met Snape near the fireplace, his hand cradling a book as he opened the pig* of floo powder. "Ah, you two." Snape said in entirely unsurprised tones, "What have you come to bother me with this time?" he deadpanned.

"Sir, can I learn wandless magic, like Harry did?" Hermione asked, her body nearly vibrating with the strength of her curiosity.

Snape nodded quietly, "You may. In fact, you may also teach Potter the spells that you have learned. I have only one word of caution for both of you - Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to learn the spells Ron Weasley has been taught this summer." Hermione rather visibly bit back the question, and Harry suppressed a grin about the questions she was sure to pepper Ron with.

"Good Day," Snape said, stepping into the floo without waiting for a response.

Harry and Hermione spent the next week at the Weasleys' house - in the usual chaos and confusion, the babble of a dozen voices (nevermind there were certainly fewer people present, the twins liked multiple voices). Hermione, as was usual, was trying to learn the wandless magic that Harry had picked up over the past thirty days. That it wasn't going well was a massive understatement. Harry was content to watch, occasionally demonstrating what he could do (small things, never the warspells that Snape had taught him).

Harry was still having a hard time coming to terms with what Snape had done. On the one hand, it had been rather a nasty trick, not even telling him what he was being taught. Or that it would take him more time to learn spells when he was doing it wandlessly. On the other hand, it had worked, and the skill was invaluable - because Snape was right, they were going to war, and that wasn't something you messed around with. Harry had the rather uncomfortable urge to both thank the Potions Master, and scream at him. While the second was a familiar feeling, the guilt that came with it was not.

Harry actually enjoyed the sessions with Hermione - it was fun watching her not be good at something, for once. Although the hex she sent his direction when she caught him smirking was not-fun. He was actively surprised with himself, with his increasing annoyance at the sheer boisterousness of the Weasley family - oh, it was alright for small periods of time, but he found himself wanting to find some space (often up on his broom) just for the sake of quiet (being with Hermione was helpful, because she was generally content to be reading, or something else that didn't require constant attention).

What was worse is that Harry found himself... almost missing Snape. That was a thought that would have had him convinced the person giving it was nutters, a week ago (yes, after training. He wouldn't have believed that he could, would, actually look for the callous man with the icy eyes).

Wanting to relieve some frustration, Harry got his broom out (flatly ignoring Ginny's offer of a Quidditch partner - he wanted to think, not be bothered by others). As he flew circles in the sky, he thought, _I really do owe Snape a lot... I should find a way to thank him. _Of course, the thought of Harry Potter formally thanking Severus Snape was ridiculous, Harry thought, _So I'll just have to do better..._ Frowning, he thought carefully, as if there were hidden pitfalls all around him. Knowing Snape's temper, that wasn't far from the truth. What does Snape loathe? What does he hate to do? Harry thought, remembering... I'm not going to stop doing what's right, even if Snape feels like he has to prevent me from sneaking about. I won't do it if it's not important, of course... Harry said, flushing at the memory of Ron and Hermione sneaking out with him for a late night picnic third year. Shaking his head to clear it, Harry went into a barrel roll, letting out a hoot of glee. Snape loathed having to deal with Neville, but with luck that wouldn't be an issue next year - and even if it still was, Harry doubted he could fix the issue. Pausing for a moment, Harry remembered who else Snape was constantly complaining about. An instant later, a wide grin broke through the grimness on his face. _Got it!_ Harry thought.

Hermione was turning into a great fuming, fire-breathing ragebeast, as she tried, time and again, to master what was considered by many wizards to be flat out impossible. Of course, there was the rather instructive notion that "Harry Did It", which was undoubtedly driving her crazy.

Harry Potter enjoyed watching this. It helped that he was perfectly honest (as it wasn't only Slytherins who could spot lies, women were worse, and Hermione was fast developing into a witchy one) when he told her that Snape hadn't told him a thing.

Hermione let loose a scream (luckily they were outside, otherwise Harry might have been deafened), as she tried to cast a stunner at a poor garden gnome. It didn't work. This was her third day of trying, and nothing worked. Harry was convinced, from the increasingly frequent displays of her temper, that this was the first time in her recorded memory that she'd managed to not get something academic to work (brooms didn't count).

The Weasleys had taken one look at Hermione, likened her face to Molly on a rampage, and were indoors. Well, the twins were sticking their heads out occasionally, undoubtedly plotting a prank (Harry hoped it was a Cheering Solution, as Hermione was likely to overpower it, and being both cheerful and rageful at once would be hilariously funny).

* * *

It was late, and Harry was thinking. Again. He was trying to work out something that Snape had asked him to do - and he had more than half of it unraveled. But that was the trick, and the tease at once. He was stuck. Harry Hated being stuck, but this time it was worse. Because, well, it had to do with Slytherins, and though Harry hated to admit it, he always felt like a bull in a china shop around them. Snape had been right, when he'd said that Slytherins crafted intricate plans. Well, Harry - for once - wanted to do something with them, and you couldn't very well recruit people if you just went blundering straight through their preexisting plans, now could you? Well, maybe a Ravenclaw, for sheer curiosity alone...

Harry Potter shook his head. It was Hogwarts tommorrow, and school the day after that. There was no shame in admitting defeat - so long as you were also as hard in the head as Harry was, and well willing to go through the wall if that's what it took. Harry figured that Snape would have some clever way around, though - and getting more information was always a good plan.

*like salt pig.

[a/n: Leave a review!]


	4. Outgrowing Old Rivalries Like Worn Shoes

OH, you haven't lived until you've been in the Burrow the day we head to Hogwarts! Harry thought with a broad smile - Percy wasn't coming this year, nor were the twins (since moved into their own place in Diagon Alley), but Harry and Hermione more than made up the difference. Oh, Harry well knew that Hermione could be neat and prim when necessary - but that wasn't her issue. Choice was. Specifically, which books to take, which to leave, and where to put them all. She was pretty good (for a girl) with the spatial problems, but when she wanted to fit Just One More, well, it was pretty much hopeless.

Yesterday Harry had been certain that he had everything, but then he'd taken his broom out, and his gloves, and _where_ did he put that mirror? Ron was just about the same, and petite Ginny Weasley could hardly be heard as she asked her Mum where her textbooks had gotten off to. Apparently Ron had taken one, and out of the third flew Canaries (a casualty of the last Sunday Dinner, when the twins had apparently been monkeying around with some newfangled contraption or another.)

They piled into the old Ford, and trucked out to the Train Station, pulling off every trunk (Harry quite glad that he didn't have to deal with the Dursleys), and hauling them all onto the platform. 9 and 3/4, of all things! Harry always had a good laugh. They couldn't have picked Six and a third, could they? (Come to think, he figured if he asked Hermione he'd get a real explanation about it. Harry frankly preferred the laughter - some things got worse for being explained).

They were nearly late, so they all piled onto the same car, finding an empty (or nearly, the Slytherin sitting within took one look at all four of them, and gracefully bowed out, saying "I'll find someplace else, thanks." Harry found himself wondering what would have happened if he had asked the lass to stay - before picturing the predictable redfaced outrage out of Ron Weasley. Perhaps it was better to have not, really.)

Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione were fighting, again (He devoutly hoped it wasn't over Ron's newly learned spells, as Snape had said it was a bad idea, and that had all sorts of underlines on it in Harry's mind. Surely Hermione knew better...?), and that made it awkward, as Ginny was staring pointedly at Harry - surely she didn't expect him to intervene? Well, maybe she just wanted him to talk with her. Awkwardly, Harry asked, "What'd you learn this summer."

"Spells,"Ginny responded, and Harry felt like he had just stuck his foot in his mouth and bit down hard. Harry idly stared out the window (watching a hawk fly beside the train, swooping to try and catch birds flushed by its passing). After a while, Harry stood up, saying simply, "W.C." Neither Ron nor Hermione looked at him, and though he was fairly sure that Ginny was just pretending to ignore him and his incompetent conversational ability, she also refrained from making any comment.

It was just his luck, really, that Harry would see Malfoy as he was heading to the W.C. Harry Potter stiffened as he saw the blond, keeping his breathing slow but feeling his traitor heart accelerate. It's just Malfoy, Harry thought with more than a bit of irritation. As Malfoy approached, Harry realized that Malfoy was also a little tense - and that made him suddenly feel better. As haughty as ever, Malfoy leveled an arrogant nod of acknowledgement in Harry Potter's direction. Catching Malfoy's eye, before Malfoy could awkwardly walk by, Harry said simply, "Good day." Malfoy's gray eyes met his, as he raised his eyebrow just slightly, indicating that Harry had caught him just a bit offguard with the comment.

"Same," Malfoy responded, as they both turned smoothly to allow each other to pass in the tight corridor without touching.

The encounter on the train left both young men asking themselves "what the hell was that?" Harry was actually just as baffled by his own reactions as he was by Malfoy's. True, there hadn't really been a reason to get into a fight - but there hadn't not been a reason, either. No Snape looming over his shoulder. Malfoy, on the other hand, knew exactly why he was toeing the line. He was just confused as to why Potter was doing the same. Because, well, that had never been a problem before. Potter was always willing to start a fight (well, okay, occasionally that took a bit of nudging - but Potter and Hostility were a normal combination in Malfoy's World).

Nonetheless, the troubled teens returned to their respective compartments - Hermione still trying to learn to spell without her wand (Harry Potter was rapidly discovering the benefits to pretending to sleep, so that he didn't need to deal with his best friend's aggravation. Ron hadn't learned that trick yet, so was getting the blunt end of Hermione's frustration), and Pansy doing her level best to make an open-sided Draco Sandwich, with herself as the jam. Draco rather liked jam sandwiches, but preferred them to be fruity - Pansy was like rhubarb - bright and sour and green with envy. Over what? Draco couldn't be bothered with caring. Besides, Draco figured Pansy liked him better quiet. Nobody liked it when Draco decided to have opinions. They tended to be sharp, like shards of broken glass.

* * *

The Feast went as unremarkably as feasts generally do, the students gawking at the new ... Assistant Professor. Namely Tonks. Harry Potter could honestly say he hadn't been expecting that one (even while she was sitting there, as her face had been changed to look a little more dour than she normally did). Dumbledore, looking as affable as he always did, had announced that Tonks would be taking all of the first through fourth years, for both Defense and Potions. Dumbledore smiled at Seamus, who had dared to ask, "Well, then who's teaching us?" in his Irish brogue. "Why, Severus Snape, who I'm sure you all know well." Yeah, that's for sure, Harry thought with a crack. Hermione hissed at Harry, "Did you know about this?" to which Harry mutely shook his head. Clearing his head, he stood up, and sputtered incoherent protests (Ron nicely backing him up with an Oh god! and Ginny pitching in with a Not Him!) - to which Snape merely raised an eyebrow, and asked cattily, "Cat got your tongue?" Snape whirled on a Ravenclaw second year, who seemed like she was about to faint at his glare, and said crossly, "Edwina, the Headmaster's Decision shall stand. Is that understood?" Harry heard Snape's voice as firm, but not cutting, the way it often was with him. _He does modulate it_, Harry thought, slowly narrowing his eyes. "Potter, Sit down! And close that gaping maw you call an eating orifice." Harry would have called it no such thing, he thought with a snort, Harry's amusement showing in a frown. Of course, Harry thought as he looked across at the Slytherin table, Malfoy was smirking at him.

The sorting hat sang a song calling for unity, and Harry Potter thought to it, in a thought no louder than a whisper, I'm trying...

It was the usual crew of big-eyed Gryffindors, and shrinking Slytherins, hearty Hufflepuffs and note-taking Ravenclaws (one even went under the hat with a pad and a pen.) Harry found himself thinking, judging each of the children. Not just on where they were likely to go, now, but who they would be. Seven years was a long time to spend with friends, a time that these children would be shaped, formed into who they would be as they entered adult life. Harry's lip twitched into a near smirk, as he looked directly at Malfoy. _There's one rotten egg that I'm glad I haven't spent more time with._ Harry thought, amused. _Can you imagine?_

* * *

After the feast, Hermione Granger, of course, wanted to go see Professor Snape. Harry, of course, knew that that was a horrible idea. Snape probably had one last day free, to experiment or work on his class notes, or whatever. Harry hated to go back to school (when he wasn't trapped at the Dursley's the entire summer), and he figured Snape would be the same. Hermione, of course, was having none of it. Frantic like a buzzing bee, she went from one side of the common room to the other, well-rehearsed arguments unable to sway Harry's mind. _Bet she just thinks I'm being stubborn_. Hermione had such a profoundly great desire to know, and her impatience was killing, well, Ron really, as he had hoped to get her into a game of chess, or something like that... "Tomorrow, Hermione" Harry at last growled, and she sat down with a huff, finally conceding that none of her arguments were working. About fifteen pages into the book, Hermione looked Harry straight in the face, her mouth opening, as Harry cut her off, "No."

* * *

Classes were a whirlwind, as usual, and having Snape for Potions in the afternoon was half-blessing, and half curse. At least he wasn't boring, and everyone was wide awake by the time Snape strode through the doors, robes flapping as if they were trying desperately to keep up with Snape's long stride. Malfoy, for once, wasn't trying to win the Most Annoying Git award, and that was strange. Harry Potter put a mental note down to think about that a bit harder, as it was strange. He could, he supposed, ask Snape - but that was asking to get his head bit off, and he rather liked it where it was.

Harry Potter was up at Snape's desk a minute before the end of class to present his potion, then skulking as he usually did at the back of the room, waiting for Ron and Hermione. Not that Hermione was going to waste one last minute before asking Snape... The instant that everyone was out of the room except Ron, Harry and Hermione, Snape leveled a glare at Ron, and said, "Leave us, unless you have something you want to bother me with."

Mutely, Ron shook his head, his freckles redbrown on a suddenly pale face, almost ghostly. He left, closing the door behind him. Snape nodded slightly, satisfied at the Weasley's discretion.

"Well, as it is office hours, I suppose I can only ask you to be brief." Snape drawled. "Go on, ask what you must." Harry found himself going over what he wanted to ask Snape, even as Hermione started to talk.

"-how did you teach Harry so quickly?" Hermione said.

"Trade Secret." Snape replied, his thin lipped smirk saying that he wasn't going to tell her. "But, seeing as you wish to learn, I do have a solution tailored for you."

Hermione simply looked expectantly at him.

"Give me your wand. You can have it back at the end of the month, if you pick wandless magic up quickly, or at the end of the semester if you prove yourself a dullard." Snape ended the sentence with a sneer, and Harry reflected that it was the closest thing that Snape had ever come to complimenting Miss Granger.

"But... my classes! How am I supposed to - " Hermione babbled, looking more upset now at the thought of looking like an idiot, of possibly failing a test, or even an entire class.

"We're in the middle of a war, sweetheart." Snape drawled in a gravely voice (as if he had rocks in his mouth), "Do you want to win _or not_?"

Harry's eyes widened. Snape had her, he could see it in how Hermione's spine stiffened, as she slammed her wand down on his desk. Harry might not have noticed it so sharply, if Snape hadn't used the word sweetheart, which Harry could almost not believe he had used. Hell, it was hard to even imagine Snape understanding the concept (not that he was using it properly, if so.)

"Fine." she spat at him, her rage barely constrained as she whirled and stalked out of the room. The door slammed behind her, and Snape smirked, slowly applauding with cupped hands.

"Still here, are you?" Snape drawled at Harry, who realized that this was Snape's way of asking why. Almost gently, though no one would be stupid enough to describe the gaunt man as gentle - you'd surely make a Hufflepuff faint!

Harry Potter wheeled about (his eyes having followed Hermione's grande exit), dodging the question by asking instead, "You meant to do that." It came out as a statement, and Harry felt a moment of pure shock at the idea that he could ever be that certain of the wily Head of Slytherin House.

"Of course, I nearly always mean to do what I do." Snape drawled.

"You meant to get her angry." Harry Potter said.

"And what good would her agonizing have done her? I brought things to a head." Snape asked grimly. Harry just stared at him, thinking furiously in circles. "Do you think she'd have decided differently if given half a week to flip and flop like a fish on dry land?"

Harry Potter thought this over, thought it over good and hard. Hermione cared about schoolwork in a way that Harry (and, of course, Ron) simply didn't. But, no, she was a Gryffindor not a Ravenclaw - practicality would always come first over being the best. "No, I think you're right. You do that a lot though, don't you?"

"What, specifically?" Snape asked, leaning forward, his eyes bulging just a tad - Snape putting an effort into not snapping at Harry for being vague as all get out.

"Poking at Gryffindors." Harry said, looking slightly bewildered. "But... _why_?" It hadn't seemed to make sense, at first glance, but Harry saw the pattern starting to emerge - a pattern of Snape being unfair deliberately towards the Gryffindors. Harry suddenly felt confident that if he asked the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws if Snape was fair, they would probably say, "mostly yeah." and then mutter about how harsh he was.

"Griffindors," Snape said with an ominous pause, "I have found, learn best with opposition. Of all the Houses, their temperament turns most towards a fight." It made a scary amount of sense, Harry thought. Snape's mouth crinkled into a half-smirk, as he continued, "If, as you might expect, the Gryffindors see me as someone to fight - well, they are that much more likely to pay attention in my class."

"That's why - with Hermione," Harry said, slightly incoherently, "You never ever give her a scrap of praise."

"And she repays me with excessive work ethic, turning in sheets of paper that I slave through every school year." Snape says with a lofty sigh, "The punishments a lowly teacher must endure."

"Sir... Do you think, there might be, some way to get Hermione some extra credit - if only she would actually write the assigned number of pages?" Harry somewhat stammered out, thinking that it sounded half formed and threadbare even as he spoke.

Leaping to his feet, Snape stood looking Harry levelly in the eye, "Now, Potter, _that_ has possibilities." Snape absently began to pace, humming completely off-key.

Harry shifted uneasily from foot to foot, not wanting to leave, and not wanting to stay when Snape was clearly done talking. He vaguely heard Snape say, "I shall have to talk with Albus..." It took a few minutes, but Snape eventually looked up, saying quickly, "Well, we'll see what comes, no?"

Harry Potter made as if to leave, for once feeling slightly unsatisfied. For once, he'd had more to talk to Ruddy Snape** about, than time seemed to allow. He found himself wondering what Snape would do, if he indeed decided to do anything at all. But Harry - he realized, suddenly, that he knew that look - it bore a striking resemblance to the one Hermione often got, when she had half a dozen plans and nothing yet to say.

Harry was almost at the door, when Snape rapped out, "Potter." Harry whirled, forcing himself to turn more slowly - if nothing else, he'd look the fool if he wound up on his bum.

"Yes?" Harry said calmly, forcing his breathing slow. If there had been one thing he'd learned in those hated lessons last year, it was how to focus. Sands! It was difficult to concentrate on nothing. But being aware, listening - that came to him as naturally as breathing. Or maybe flying.

"Please convey this to Miss Granger at your earliest opportunity." Snape said, as he gestured over Hermione's wand, creating a duplicate and then handing it to Harry. Harry thought wryly that Snape's earliest opportunity meant "else have a damn fine reason" - like a compulsive urge to vomit, or something.

"Thank you." Harry said, seeing the ramifications of Hermione without a wand. And Gryffindors said Snape never gave a damn.  
Was it Harry's imagination, or did Snape almost look embarrassed? Harry stared at him a moment, hearing something softer than words, "Hate to spoil a fine exit..." Silently, Harry nodded, before making his way out the door and up out of the dungeons. He never did understand how Snape could possibly stand to live in a manmade cave all day. Surrounded by stone.

Harry Potter fairly flew through the dungeons, enjoying his longer stride - he remembered when he'd really had to run to keep up this pace. Suddenly, he jerked to a halt, wondering if he looked at all like Snape - and then, right on the heels, whether he cared. Nodding firmly, he decided he did care. And started skipping through the halls. There, that was better, wasn't it? Just the thing to get himself in trouble too. He'd have to make a habit of it.*

Harry Potter breezed by Filius Flitwick, who was so small he often ran in the corridors (and somehow never mowed anyone down), so he rarely cared about others doing it. Exiting Prof. McGonagall's quarters, Headmaster Dumbledore broke out in a broad grin, as he saw Harry skipping along. "Why, what a lovely idea! I may try it too, today." Harry could hear the Headmaster skipping down the corridors. Shite, shite, shite, Harry thought, shaking his head, what have I just done?

Harry wanted to make an early night of it, just the way Hermione would often do - although today she seemed more inclined to read a book near Ron, whom Harry was well aware she was a bit sweet on. Harry had questions for Hermione, a plan to work through - but... tommorrow. Rest now. Before that, though, Harry descended on Hermione, pulling out her wand, and using it to brush a stray lock away from her neck. Hermione jumped half a mile into the sky, falling onto her feet like a cat. She whirled, not having noticed his arrival, "Harry James Potter! You should be ashamed of yourself. Nearly scared me to death!"

Unfortunately, no sooner had Harry's head hit the pillow, than he was off to the races, his mind a whirlwind of small ideas. Slowly, they resolved into "Who was Snape's friend in Gryffindor?" Harry's mind conjured a Red and Gold wearing Death Eater, charging furiously into battle, wearing that fearsome white mask. A far cry from Peter Pettigrew, Harry thought. Harry couldn't imagine Snape being friends with Pettigrew. It was like oil and flame - ready to explode. It just wouldn't work. Harry rolled over onto his belly, cursing his curiosity and trying to smother it with his pillow.

It didn't work. it never worked. Harry didn't mean to be so curious, but still...

Harry stood, doffing pajamas and pulling on his uniform. He descended down to the Gryffindor Common Room. Luckily, Hermione was still up. He could sate his curiosity at least a little, by finding all the niggling holes in his plan.

Hermione was taking notes. Hermione Granger was drawing a diagram. Harry felt,well, almost unreasonably proud. He had actually managed to come up with a plan decent enough - complex enough - that Hermione had to take notes to keep it in her head. Or maybe it was just to re-explain it to him, when she spotted the holes. Either way, it was somewhat gratifying. Hermione was always his best resource when it came to plans... He just needed to remember to use his own muscles every now and then. After all, what if she wasn't there? A dark feeling passed over him, like the shadow of death chilling his bones. He looked up at Hermione, who hadn't noticed his inattention, as she was describing exactly how she knew that Hannah was a better choice than Sue Bones. Harry shook his head, pleased that he had already come up with those thoughts, "I know it'll take more convincing for Sue than Hannah. But Smith likes Sue, you know, um, that way." Harry said pleasantly, mentally cursing himself for not being able to express himself coherently. Why was it that when the topic came to love, to affection even, he started stammering like a lightblinded fool?

Finally, after over an hour of pouring over a plan that would (hopefully) take less time than that to accomplish, Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet, doing the frog-dance that Harry had taught Hermione in their first year. It was a perfect series of movements for shaking out tight muscles and stretching out backs bent double from overwork. As they finished the dance they hugged each other, giggling with the fresh, unburdened sensations that dance always brought out in both of them. Last year, it'd been the only thing able to make Hermione Granger smile in the last week before their OWLs.

Harry Potter had a plan. It involved skipping from the Great Hall towards the main artery down to the dungeons. After breakfast, of course. Snape always showed up for breakfast, after all, even if he was often late and frequently only drank a mug of black brew (Harry had once told someone it was grog, not coffee, and then was stuck trying, haltingly, to explain something he had more heard of than seen, until Hermione intervened of course).

So here Harry Potter was, skipping down the halls towards the basement. From behind him, he heard Snape's soft voice, "Skipping in the halls, Potter? Whatever has possessed you to desecrate these hallowed halls of learning with such frivolity?"

Harry Potter spun, looking wildeyed at Snape, and then lowered his eyes, trying to look contrite - and, as usual, failing. "I 'unno."

"Such eloquence informs me not in the slightest." Snape growled, starting to sound more angry (because he always was such an impatient git), "Perhaps you can summon some grandiloquence in detention this evening?"

"Of course, sirrah, of course." Harry Potter said, attempting to summon an ornate bow - which he failed at utterly. From further down the hall (behind Snape, naturally, no one wanted to catch his eye when he was in a mood), there was some tittering and giggling at the utter clumsiness that the Chosen One exhibited when he was not on a broomstick.

* * *

Harry Potter knocked on the door to Snape's classroom, having gone there directly after dinner. Snape, obviously, wasn't there yet, as he didn't answer. Harry hoped the man was eating, at least - he looked like a scarecrow in the best of times, and he'd been looking gaunt as of late. Again.

"Door's open." Snape said - his soft voice echoing into Harry's ear***, his long stride taking him down the hallway at a faster, if more controlled, rate than most eleven year olds could run.

Harry Potter entered, standing at a decent facsimile of parade rest - until he heard Snape turn the door handle, at which point he slouched slightly and started to scratch behind his ear.

Snape closed the door, muttering a soft spell to lock it - the whole door glowed yellow, briefly. _What was that spell? _Harry wondered.

"Speak." Professor Snape said impatiently.

"Sir," Harry Potter began, "I believe I've made some progress on the task you assigned me over the summer.

"Demonstrate it, then." Snape said, as Potter's eyes clouded over in confusion.

"Oh, no sir, not that task. The one about the Defense Study Group." Harry responded. "It starts with me talking with Hermione, and getting her to talk with Neville, who has had a crush on her for the longest time..."

"I have little patience for adolescent drama in the best of times, Potter." Snape drawled.

"Yes, sir, I'll keep it brief." Harry Potter said, "Neville, who is study partners with Susan, can get her to talk with her best friend Hannah, who can just ask Zack Smith to head the Defense Study Group. And, because he wants to impress her, he's likely to agree."

"How will you convince people that you aren't interested in leading?" Snape asked coldly.

"Because I'm not. Sincerity is a virtue, is it not?" Harry Potter said ascerbically, and Snape muffled an appreciative snort.

"Perhaps only to Hufflepuffs." Snape said dismissively.

"Which is exactly why I'm suggesting it. Quiddich takes up enough of my time that it's a convincing line, anyway. Maybe I can be captain this year?" Harry Potter asked, not exactly waiting for a response. "Still," Harry Potter said, frowning pensively, "I haven't been able to come up with anything to do with the Slytherins..."

"We'll get to that in a moment. First, is there some reason you are set on Mister Smith?" Snape asked.

"Yeah, because he's likely to take it on, just out of jealousy of me." Harry Potter said resolutely.

"You do realize that you're going to need to find something better than that, to convince people to ask _him_." Snape said with a smug look on his face, "He has, or so I'm told, quite the reputation as a markedly unpleasant and obstreperous person."

"Not that you'd know anything about that, sir." Harry Potter said, pausing to think, "I think I can get Hermione to push for it - for him. After all, she can be much more interested in the Study Group than I am. Everyone will believe that." Harry paused again, sensing the impatient gleam in Snape's eyes, then continued, "And Hermione can make sure that we split teaching duties, so that it's not just Smith teaching us what he knows."

"Will you take a turn at teaching?" Snape asked, wondering.

"Yeah, if there's enough other people. Don't want to stand out too much." Harry Potter said.

"Words I thought you incapable of speaking." Snape said smugly, entirely too pleased to take credit for Harry's humility. "As for the Slytherins, the first person that must be dealt with is Draco Malfoy."

Harry Potter merely nodded. Draco Malfoy, while not the most senior of people in Slytherin House, had enough wealth and influence to be a powerful decisionmaker. "But, sir! - I don't know how to convince him!" Harry spat his frustration like nails, his composure cracking under the repeated strain of _nothing works_.

"Ah." Snape said, letting the word fall into the air, until Harry gained back a reasonable facsimile of his composure. "That doesn't matter."

"What?" Harry Potter asked, as Snape leaned back, crossing his legs, "How can that not matter?"

"Because if he decides, himself, to say yes, then you've won." Snape paused for a blink, "And if he does not, then you'll be dangling the opportunity in front of the next Slytherin. Opportunists all, they won't be able to say no to an opportunity that Draco Malfoy himself decided to spurn. Your task is to find three Slytherins that will serve your purposes. Run your selection by me first."

Harry Potter considered this, at last whispering, "Slytherins really are ambitious."

"Yes, Potter. Sometimes to a fault." Snape said. "Now, get out of here before your friends become convinced I'm using you for a blood ritual or something."

Harry Potter stood, and leapt out of the room, feeling grateful and satisfied - and very, very quick to leave.

Harry Potter climbed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower faster than he'd ever climbed them before - and that included as a first year, when he had been quick as a flash (through intensive Harry Hunting training). Oh, Harry wasn't surprised at his improved stamina - he wasn't quite sure how long he had fought Snape in his dead godfather's house, but he figured it had to have been at least twenty minutes.

Quick as a blink, Harry Potter slid through the entrance to the Common room (making Alicia wait an extra moment to leave, as she pulled back hurriedly so as to not get run over). Having arrived, Harry Potter stood, in a thrumming sort of suppressed motion that could never be mistaken for casual, as he calmly scanned the room for Hermione Granger.

There. With Ron, curled up and reading, with him sitting beside her as Dean sketched a muddled picture of them****.

Harry strode over, suppressing his instincts to run, to laugh, to pull Hermione into a hug and whisper everything to her, just because. That would, Merlin knew, upset Ron to no end. Harry sprawled casually on the armrest near where Hermione laid her head, as he gaily greeted Ginny, before lowering his voice. "It's showtime!" Harry said, his eyes glimmering with amusement and satisfaction.

It was Harry's first real plan, after all, and he watched carefully (while engaging in a lively conversation with Ginny) as Hermione strode over to talk with Neville. As he watched, Harry began to create alternate plans, some simpler, some vastly more complex. He idly wondered if there was any way he could get Draco Malfoy to ask to join the Defense Association... Then, Harry simply shook his head. As Snape had said, it didn't matter if Malfoy said yes or not, just that he was asked first. Further proof that Slytherins were just plain _weird_.

Harry and Ron raced to the Great Hall, Ron's stomach growling on the way. It wasn't uncommon for them to do this - but today lent a particular urgency to Harry's steps. He wanted to race through dinner, and go outdoors. It wasn't a sure thing, but Neville often liked to talk with Sue when he worked at the Greenhouses. And Hannah liked long walks around the lake, so that would be another thing to observe (it was startling how much Harry didn't know about people, and how much he could pick up, simply by keeping an ear out.)

As Harry went outside, 'hoping to put a bit of work in' on his project for Sprout (he was taking Herbology, and half asking himself why - but it was important. Of course, they said that about potions, as well, and Harry'd had no luck finding any applications for that, ever. Maybe if he asked the twins they could expound at length on what made Potioneering a useful discipline).

From high above, dark eyes followed the movements of the children like ants below him. Professor Snape was, contrary to most people's expectations, enjoying the brisk wind on top of the Astronomy Tower, bracing his arms on the parapets, and leaning backwards, his eyes trained on the children. He could see Bones and Longbottom meeting up - and there was Potter, unexpectedly - he was nervous. Professor Snape smiled a cruel smile, enjoying the rare expression on the often arrogant boy. Well, that was what school was for, wasn't it? Trying new things, and learning new ways of thought.

Harry found himself skipping stones, all by his lonesome until, unexpectedly, a seventh year Ravenclaw joined him. Harry didn't say a word, but the companionship made him feel less lonely all the same. His green eyes watched as Neville and Susan parted, and Susan hurried over to Hannah, who gave her friend a hug. Harry wasn't sure what that was about, but carefully curbed his curiosity. Unlike what certain people said about him, he didn't have a yawning gaping need to know everything about everyone. Just the important stuff.

Harry's eyes were drawn, briefly, to the Slytherin team heading off the Quiddich pitch. He hoped that he'd at least see Hannah agree... but that was looking less likely, particularly with Malfoy at the head of the sweaty, smelly team. Still, Harry wasn't about to leave, to back away. That, too, would be a problem. He was a Gryffindor, and wasn't about to cower away from ten people who nearly certainly weren't about to bash his face in for no reason at all.

Harry threw another stone into the water, and Malfoy breezed past. Harry wrinkled his nose at the pungent aroma, evidence that Malfoy had been pushing himself hard. Better prepare for a doozy of a match, Harry thought, as he bent down to pick up another stone. Someone - probably either Goyle or Crabbe, they looked nearly identical except for the hair, the big lunks - pushed Harry, and he wound up tumbling into the water.

Harry had only moments to think, as he erupted out of the water. His hands (arms really) were cupped, and he wound up splashing both of the lads with a considerable quantity of water. Only after he was done did Harry fling his glasses back on, staring then at the blurry figures in front of him. He wasn't sure if they were offended, upset, or just trying to work out why he'd done it. In retrospect, it did seem like a silly thing to do.

"That water can't possibly be good for your hair." Malfoy drawled, looking impatient. "Lets find you both some soap, and you can scrub the _mud_ out." Malfoy turned about, and led his team onward.

And that was the odd thing, Harry thought later. Malfoy hadn't given his normal smirk. Besides, what redblooded (or blueblooded, he idly supposed in Malfoy's case) boy turns down a splashfight?

Harry Potter left breakfast with his stomach in a ball of nerves. He was anxious, part in a good way, part in a really bad way. The first class of the day was Defense against the Dark Arts. With Professor Snape, of course. That, in of itself, was enough to give anyone a case of the nerves. It wasn't just what he was going to be teaching - no one who knew the man for more than a few minutes would doubt his skill in Darkness (and particularly not Harry, who had been caught often enough by the man, as he walked the dark halls of Hogwarts Castle). Fewer understood that whatever skill Severus Snape had at fighting the Dark Arts was a hard earned skill, most likely gained far later than his ability with The Dark Arts.

In some ways, it was exciting, just to have a competent teacher again. Umbridge had been worse than useless, actively impeding children from learning. Whatever Snape had planned, it wouldn't be designed to hobble his students.

Harry Potter arrived early, at the designated classroom, only to find a message on the door, which informed him that all students were requested in the large lecture hall on the third floor. Harry checked the door itself, out of sheer curiosity, and wasn't at all surprised to find it locked. He hurried quickly towards the stairs, hearing Ron and Hermione bickering behind him (obviously they hadn't seen the note yet, or they'd be running to catch up with him).

Harry entered the large lecture hall, which he quickly discovered was a misnomer. It was more like a school gymnasium, complete with an ... awards stand? He shook his head, thinking that it was ridiculous to think that Snape would be giving anyone awards. At any rate, there was a podium and it was on a small dais.

As more people (including Ron and Hermione) filtered in, Harry Potter noticed something - there were Ravenclaws here, early as it was. And a few Hufflepuffs. As the first of the Slytherins sashayed into the room*+*, Harry realized that Snape had combined the classes, which would give him more time for instruction. Well, if a war didn't break out - accidental or on purpose. Harry was familiar with exactly how hard it was to control this many students. A sepia-stained picture of Snape loomed in his mind, and Harry somehow thought that Snape wouldn't have much trouble.

Unlike in Potions, Snape did not slam the doors. Instead, he slid through them, directly after the last Slytherin (Goyle from the size of him) entered. Softly, like a cat, Snape made his way to the front of the room, parting people with subtle nudges and even more subtle looming. Surprisingly, it was all quiet - even Neville didn't blink, simply got out of Snape's way. An air of anticipation had crept over everyone, as silence had stolen even their breaths.

Snape lept to the platform, landing silently. "There appears to have been a misprint on your schedules this year. Allow me to make a slight change. This is not Defense against the Dark Arts. That is no longer a class that is appropriate for the situation we find ourselves in." Snape looked down his long nose at some of the kids - his bright black eyes picking out anxious students. "This class is A Prelude to War. If you wish to cower, and read out of books for the rest of your life, I suggest you leave. You will find that the Slytherins have a copy of the exam, and you can study from that. Prices may vary, depending on stature and likeability." Harry caught the questioning, nearly betrayed look of Theo Nott, who obviously hadn't been expecting this to come up. "Most of you will be capable of studying for a test, once given the questions." Snape gave a thready sigh, saying, "If you have decided to attend this class in error, you may leave now. I strongly advise you to do so."

Several Ravenclaws rose awkwardly, and started to make their way to the doorway. A few more Hufflepuffs looked like they wanted to join them, but they held fast. The Slytherins, especially, looked awkward - perhaps embarrassed that they weren't trying a more cunning approach.

Snape spun, apparating to just outside the door before any of them could take a step outside. "Where are you going?" He asked in a voice cold as stone.

"To the common room." One said, and another said, "I wanted a bite to eat before my next class."

"It would appear that you have mistaken me." Snape said, knitting his fingers together. "When I suggested you leave, I didn't mean this classroom. I meant Britain. By all means, take your families as well, if you can persuade them to go." Snape looked at all the students, meeting each one's gaze briefly. "Lying to yourself will not save you. War is coming. Leave now while you still can." Harry heard the ring of truth in Snape's words, and his genuine desire for them to go. Harry shook himself, telling himself that he'd think about whether he wanted to, whether he ought to go, when it wasn't classtime. Snape wanted people to consider his words, and that meant giving them time enough to back out.

Snape strode through the Ravenclaws, who were standing awkwardly near the door, unsure whether they wanted to leave. Unsure about a lot of things, really. Snape paid them no heed.

"What is the purpose of war?" Snape asked the class, in that purring tone that sounded like a cat given human voice.

*oxymoron, yes, I know. Harry's just cussin', deal wi' it.

**hairbrained idea. But, as Snape would say, at least the brat is thinking.

***of course Snape knows ventriloquism. Spy, remember?

****watercolors, naturally.

*+* Daphne

[a/n: Please review if you want more of this folio thing. It's kinda a pain. This split happened because I had five references, and had to switch to something other than "just add more asterisks". Yes, that's a dog barking, lonely and alone. Poor Asterisk.]


	5. Enter the Minister

Harry Potter found himself pausing over the question, thinking it over. Not that he intended to answer, regardless of his reasoning. Harry Potter recognized that purr in Snape's tone - it was the tone of 'you've got no cover, and I'm coming to get you.' Definitely not the time to answer the question, not when Snape was likely to jump down the other person's throat.

"To lock up the evildoers," Bones said stoutly, responding to Snape's curt nod.

Snape purred back at her, "And what will you do if they refuse?"

"Why? We'll fight, of course."

"Will you bleed? Your enemies aren't shrinking violets, you know."

"If necessary, yes."

Snape turned to the rest of the class, saying, "This is war. Take a look around, find your best friend, or your closest analogue if you haven't one. Can you tell me what you'd do if you heard their screams in your ear as they thrashed and soiled themselves before dying?"

The whole room rustled with clothing, Harry among them. The room was perfectly silent - even Vince and Greg had been quieted by loyal Slytherins, before they were so foolish as to say a word.

"It takes a strong person, a faithful and trusting person, to put faith in the rule of law in times of war. That if you let the person who hurt you, who hurt your friends, out of your sight - that something won't happen." Snape paused, meeting a Ravenclaw's eye, "It's happened before."

Neville raised his hand, and as Snape nodded at him, said, "Is the point of war to kill the other side?"

"A very, very good question." Snape said as his lips turned upward, just a bit, into that devilish smirk of his. "But no," Snape said, drawing out the no until it was four distinct syllables. "Tell me, does anyone here want to murder one of their classmates?"

Slowly, and then like a wave, students started to shake their heads no. Some were confident, Harry saw - others looked wide-eyed, like the very idea was foreign to them, and rejected. And a few (mostly Slytherins) seemed like their answer was likely to change, depending on circumstances.

Snape's mouth curled into a crude semblance of a smile, his lips tight against one another, "I don't believe you. You are at an age where you are fools - blind or nearsighted. A missed date, a cruel word, a pointed jest. All an incitement towards giving your passion free rein."

"But no, war is not about killing the other side. I can assure you there are thousands of ways to murder your fellows. In fact, list them, as many as you can, for your first homework assignment."

It was clear, despite the short lecture, that class was dismissed. A mousy Ravenclaw suddenly stood up, and asked impulsively, "Sir, you mentioned War - what side are you exactly on?"

Snape suddenly looked smug, and stepped toward her, as all eyes were trained on him. "Finally, a question with a bit of sense. One point to Ravenclaw. I am on your side," Snape said, meeting each and every person's eye in the room, "Up until precisely 3:15 in the afternoon on May the 15th, when I hope to retire to a sunny European villa in comfort and relative peace."

A few of the Slytherins looked confused, and Ron looked sharply over at Hermione. Draco Malfoy just smirked. "Of course," Snape continued as an afterthought, "I don't actually own a sunny villa. I suppose I shall just have to borrow one - with word or with deed." Snape at the last word looked down at Malfoy, whose smug smirk had entirely fallen off his face.

"Class dismissed." Snape said, and as people fled the classroom, Harry sat quietly, starting to organize his books to leave, when Snape caught his eye with a level gaze. Harry pretended to spill his books (sending them flying) and with a muffled, hopefully inaudible curse, waved Hermione and Ron ahead.

Snape's wand cracked a few different spells, the last of which closed the door before he turned to Harry, saying quickly, "If Malfoy does decide to join, give him his head. He knows what he's doing." Snape smirked, "Or, at least, he will."

Snape vanished quickly out a sidedoor before Harry was done picking up his books, leaving Harry to hope that whatever wards Snape had snapped on the door wouldn't be painful to exit from the inside.

Later that day, Harry heard about the seventh year unfortunate enough to try entering Snape's classroom first. Singed hair and lost eyebrows were only the half of it.

Harry Potter had thought, upon waking, that it was Thursday, and that he mostly didn't have anything to worry about. It was a good feeling, truth be told. Like he could do anything, and find everything okay at the end of the day. This was partially because he didn't have class with Snape today, of course.

He closed his eyes, and started trying to remember how he had cast a different spell than he had signed. His brain wasn't, apparently, wired to remember a week ago with terribly much fidelity,* though, so Harry figured he'd try again before he went to bed. Or... maybe... within the room of Requirement. There had to be some way he could jog his memory, right?

With a leap and a jump, Harry was off to breakfast, and then to class. This was his first day of classes with Hermione, since... well, the thing he wasn't supposed to be thinking about (instead, he summoned an image of some very bouncy breasts that surprisingly belonged to Professor Sprout, and held that in his head instead, until he could simply look at Hermione without needing to think about... that thing.).

Hermione looked close to tears, as Flitwick called on her to demonstrate the latest charm that he was teaching. To everyone (except Harry) 's surprise, there was nothing. Now, in years of Charms, people had grown accustomed to Hermione Granger pulling things off perfectly. But it was rare indeed, even for the worst student, to accomplish nothing. They were far more likely to manage to blow the object to bits than to do nothing.

Finally, Prof. Flitwick broke out of his staring, turning towards Draco Malfoy, and asking him to demonstrate. With a smarmy smile that made Harry just want to punch his daylights out, Malfoy demonstrated it with a fluidity that Harry couldn't help but envy. Harry's movements always seemed jerky. Oh, sure, they worked - but they didn't flow. _Someone should teach Malfoy how to do a spell chain..._ Harry thought, and then blinked. _Did I really think that?_ Unbidden, Sirius Black's grinnng mug rose in front of Harry's mind's eye. _No, it was not a good idea to teach Draco Malfoy, Future Death Eater, a god-damned thing._

* * *

Truth be told, Malfoy looked a bit... startled when Hermione Granger also flubbed the transfiguration (though, admittedly, she at least managed to change the color of the frog). Minerva McGonagall just looked worried, and all the Slytherins were smugly laughing as Malfoy started to "Show them how it's done." in the most grandiose poses he could pull off. Harry finally couldn't take the great wanker anymore, and cough-whispered, "Lockhart." Malfoy shot him a sharp glare, and continued in style. Harry, however, hadn't _really_ expected Draco Malfoy to listen. Not _immediately_, at any rate.

* * *

It was right before dinner when Harry Potter managed to get Hermione alone - she had crept off to an unused classroom, and she was trying a simple levitation charm, over and over and over again. Harry, however, had decided that enough was enough. He wasn't going to let Hermione drown in her own lack of confidence. He snuck up carefully, and then said, directly in her ear, "Boo!"

He dropped to the floor, looking up at Hermione, who was staring at the wall, looking at the blazing fire spell she had thrown in her terror. Harry climbed to his feet, glad that he had been trained by the school of hard knocks, and knew how to fall without breaking anything. "You forgot it wasn't supposed to work," He said with a shrug, and then Hermione impulsively hugged him. "Thank you thank you thank you" she cried. Harry hugged her back, of course, and as Hermione quieted, she whispered in his ear, "I was starting to think I might never get it..."

Harry responded, equally quietly, "Magick's always there when you need it."

"Hermione..." Harry said, and trailed off, leaving her looking at him quietly. He absentmindedly began to fidget, as he tried to work out exactly what he had to say. "I... kinda need your help."

"Is it about Ginny?" Hermione asked proddingly, assuming that would be the only way Harry would be this out of sorts.

"No," Harry said, taking a deep breath, "IwantyoutohelpmefigureouthowtogetMalfoyintotheHomeworkGroup."

Hermione blinked, and then blinked again. "What?" She said, stepping back, as she finally parsed what he'd been saying. "But... why?"

"Because..." Harry said, and realized that he didn't really have a decent answer. Certainly not Hermione worthy, at any rate. She liked to examine anything. "The sorting hat said we should try to unite the houses, right?"

"Yeah..." Hermione said, "... but, Malfoy?" Hermione herself squirmed a bit, "You know I wouldn't say this, normally, but ... his father's a Death Eater! Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"Umm..." Harry said, thinking that if he thought it was a bad idea, he probably wouldn't have suggested it.

"Weren't you the one saying that I shouldn't do something just because a teacher told me to? And the sorting hat is just a hat!" Hermione said.

"A magic hat." Harry weakly offered.

"Nope, not going to help you with this one. Not until you come up with some compelling reasons." Hermione said, and Harry could hear her mind closing like the steel trap it was.

He was on his own. After all, it wasn't like he could ask Ron for help, now was it? Ron wouldn't ask. Ron would simply blow up, and Harry really didn't want to have to deal with that. Again.

"I... guess i'll try to figure this out on my own, then?" Harry offered weakly, his mind certain, but his heart unusually weary. He liked his friends, really he did, but they could be so blasted difficult sometimes.

Harry left first, leaving Hermione still trying without any success at all, to lift a feather. He wanted to have a walk around Hogwarts. Walking always helped him think, it always had.

* * *

Harry'd had time to go down two sets of stairs, and come back up one, winding and wending his way around the castle as he thought on his plan.

"Well, look if it isn't the Magic Mudblood..." Harry heard, recognizing Draco Malfoy's arrogant drawl. Thoughtfully, he slipped behind a pillar, freeing his wand without - explicitly - aiming it at Malfoy's back.

Hermione was dead silent, and Harry thought that was probably a bad thing.

"What'sa matter, muddie? Lost your magic? Having problems with your wand?" Malfoy's drawl rolled across the hallway.

"I hardly think it's any of your business." Hermione said.

Harry, right behind Malfoy, heard him whisper a spell that Harry didn't immediately recognize. The spell flew, night-green, and Hermione Granger managed to summon an impressively glowing Protego.

From behind her, Severus Snape emerged, and Harry grinned - for once it looked likely that Malfoy would be the one getting into trouble. Surely he couldn't be mad at Hermione for casting a shield spell. "Mister Malfoy," Snape purred, "It would appear that Miss Granger has entered a new, but not novel, phase of magical development. You would be well advised to not press her limits, particularly in stressful situations." He paused for a moment, then said, in a purring tone that dripped menace, "You are, I trust, aware of the rules about waving wands at other students in the hallways? If that had been anything more dangerous than a haircolor-changing cantrip..."

Draco Malfoy's voice had lost all of his arrogance when he next spoke, sounding as colorless as his face, "Yes, sir." He left the scene without running, but it was a close thing, his swift steps very reminiscent of Snape himself.

Naturally, in his hurry, he didn't see Harry Potter.

Harry, however, knew better than to expect that Snape would not notice him. He wondered what Snape would have to say about his conduct, and idly scraped the floor with the toe of one shoe. Harry felt the rush of a silencing spell over his head, his eyes brightening as he looked toward Snape.

Snape said to Hermione, "He'll have that round the whole Slytherin Common Room by nightfall. Expect stares, not questions."

Harry felt the silencing spell fall, and heard Snape's retreating footsteps. Indecisive, he stood there, as Hermione first steadied herself with a few deep, calming breaths, and then followed Snape.

Harry spent the rest of the time towards dinner trying to figure out if Hermione would have been proud of him for his reticence, or disgusted at his lack of bravery. He found he really didn't know. Still, a good part of him was glad that she hadn't seen him standing there.

Harry, heading off to dinner, tried to pretend to himself that he wasn't hurt that he was going to have to do the rest of the plan by himself. Oh, it didn't hurt too much not to be letting Ron in - he was always a hothead, and if Harry'd had any plans before this that even verged on what he was doing now, he'd have left the redhead out in a heartbeat. He was simply too volatile for anything resembling delicacy.

Not that Harry intended to do anything delicate, today.

However, it was really Hermione not wanting to help that upset him. She always had such a level head on her shoulders, and she was good at plans, like scary good. And they had always done these sorts of things together. True, this time he hadn't had a "good enough reason" (whatever that would take... Harry knew Hermione didn't hate Malfoy, but if you consider someone a rather obnoxious bit of slime, it's hard to think anything good about them at all, isn't it? Harry himself had to think about what Snape had said about Malfoy's loyalty before he could really find anything good to say about Malfoy, and that was in the secludedness of his own mind!).

Harry was so preoccupied with his thoughts, that he almost missed Luna Lovegood coming down a sidepassage towards the Great Hall and dinner. This was a more impressive feat than it sounds, as she had colorful swirls of light arrayed around her, so she looked like some sort of completely clad belly dancer, or possibly a faerie. Either way, it was quite a marvellous sight, and Harry was glad that he had stopped - was that a butterfly net?

"Luna?" Harry asked, reluctant to intrude if she was really preoccupied with catching something imaginary. He'd done so before, and been roped into helping her on her hunt. While normally he was game for such frivolity, today he really was hungry - and at any rate he had things to do.

"Oh! Harry Potter! I didn't notice you were there." Luna said, dropping the net.

Harry approached softly, hoping that if she was looking for something it would be attracted by silence, rather than by a lot of noise. Luna looked the type to have a good pair of lungs on her, and he didn't fancy her screaming in his ear.

"You look like you're thinking pretty hard about something." Luna said with a smile.

Harry looked up and down the hallway, before swiftly sketching a well-memorized spell with his index finger, speaking the privacy spell in low tones. "Yeah, I've been working on getting out of leading the Homework Group I started last year..."

"You're still doing that?" Luna said, then changed her mind, "Someone's still doing that? I figured with Snape..."

Harry smiled, and said, "It's still a good idea. You saw last year how much you learned about the other houses..."

Luna smiled and nodded, and then looked a little sad, "All except the Slytherins..." Harry was vaguely surprised that had worked, as he hadn't really expected to lead her right there - he hadn't really been trying, at any rate.

"Maybe..." Harry started, pausing, "Maybe you could help me with that..."

Harry explained what he had come up with, and Luna nodded, before smiling angelically. "You say just that, and I'll take care of the rest." So saying, she got out a book to read on the way to dinner.

Harry knew something was up when he strode into the Great Hall. For one, Dumbledore wasn't eating. The Headmaster almost always ate supper at the Great Hall...

In fact, none of the other teachers were eating, except the Potions Professor, whose long, pale nose gleamed pallidly beneath his dark, lanky hair. Poor man looked like a moonlit shadow under these lights... really creepy. He certainly didn't look half so bad in the sunshine, even if he had a complexion that was completely resistant to tanning.

Wanting to know what was going on, Harry Potter sat down quickly - also, unlike other years, not particularly wanting to interfere. Harry didn't give that idea much thought, however, as a lot of other students were pouring into the Great Hall, and he wanted to keep an eye on them, to see what was going on, and to figure out what they'd got planned. Besides, he wanted to hear if Smith was already boasting about the DA.

Harry could see the Slytherins with their easy cameraderie (that he rather suspected masked a relentless level of suspicion between the house members). But that wasn't so interesting. What was interesting was the Ravenclaws, who seemed jarred out of their normal circles. Indeed, the claws that had left (or at least tried to), were grouped together, uneasily eyeing both the door and Snape, as if they were expecting something.

And perhaps they were.

There was a palpable air of tension across the entire Great Hall, words were muffled and laughter was light if not silenced entirely. Professor Snape, of course, ate as though nothing was wrong. Perhaps, in his estimation, things had merely marked improved now that he wasn't forced to make small talk with Professor Sprout or Flitwick. Harry thought that sounded like the perpetually grumpy teacher, anyway.

Harry Potter forced himself to eat slower than usual, grabbing three slabs of roast beef, and some mashed potatoes. He was almost finished with the first slab (which really was more than he used to eat, but Harry supposed he was growing, now, and that meant that he was likely to get taller and not wind up like Dudley), when the Staff Door opened lightly - more a creak, as the door opened just marginally more than a crack.

Professor McGonagall's feline form emerged. Nearly half the room stopped their eating, and the rest weren't far behind, as they picked up on the mood. She danced across the floor, in that languid "I am perfectly where I want to be" mode that Harry had learned from the neighborhood catlady's cats... And then she paused, hopped onto the dais on which the High Table rested, and then executed a perfect jump... straight into Snape's lap, and then onto the table, directly in front of him (unwatched, Snape's plate had been pushed over a foot away from him). She looked him over once, and then curled into what Harry liked to think of as a cat's natural Warm Ball Mode. Snape gently laid one of his longfingered hands on her, and began to stroke.

Harry Potter figured he was the only one not surprised when the Transfiguration Professor began to purr.

It was about a minute of stunned silence (Ron was still eating, but quietly, and Hermione had merely glanced up before returning to her reading, absently leading food into her mouth as was her custom).

The main door to the Great Hall opened - and Ron dropped his food. Hermione dropped hers as well - onto the book, and cursed loudly.

The Minister of Magic had arrived, looking dapper as ever in purple robes, although his usual genial smile had been replaced by a troubled frown. The entire room was silent, and Harry belatedly realized that there weren't any other chairs at the High Table.

Harry's eyes felt like they were sharper than normal, as he watched Minister Fudge stroll down the long way towards the high table. Harry hadn't the highest opinion of the man, and he felt certain that most of the students shared his thoughts on the very officious, if congenial man. Harry Potter could feel, crawling within his belly, the feeling that Minister Fudge was walking into a trap.

Harry didn't feel compelled to warn _him_.

Minister Fudge continued to stroll nearer the high table, as a motionless Severus Snape silently studied him. Minister Fudge approached to three paces away from the dais, and looked upward (Harry mentally docked him a few status points for not having stopped significantly farther away. Who wants to look up at the person they're talking to? Just going to get a crick in your neck...).

"Master Snape," Minister Fudge started, and Harry docked him another point - Master was a formal title, and it looked like the Minister was trying to be here to do something informal. Besides, it had awful connotations - he really ought to have used Professor. Harry blinked. Had he just thought that the Minister was significantly bad at his job? Yes, yes he had. The Minister continued seamlessly, "What a pleasure to see you again." He said this with a broad, and completely insincere grin.

"Likewise," Snape said in a level, colorless voice - _he's really making sarcasm sing_.

"Now, I say, my good man, were you trying to cause a panick in your Defense against the Dark Arts classroom?" Minister Fudge said genially, and Harry admired how unruffled he managed to seem, when Snape was giving him that piercing-eye look that never failed to reduce Harry to eye-dropping, toe shuffling shame (no matter that he'd often done nothing wrong).

"No," Snape said, his purring voice pulling that syllable out into three, "I was merely wondering why they weren't panicking already." Harry caught at what Snape was doing - _he's playing to the crowd. This isn't really about Fudge at all_.

"Now, now," Minister Fudge said, "We can't have you panicking the classroom. And giving students advice to leave the country?" The tone was of disapproval, although Minister Fudge still seemed to be saying it with a smile.

"I'd give you the same advice, if I thought you had the brains to take it." Snape drawled, and a few first year Slytherins tittered (to be shushed by their elders). "This war will end ... poorly... for those who tend to sit on the fence."

Minister Fudge finished his thought, still disapproving, as if Snape had said nothing of consequence, "My word, you're supposed to be a teacher, not a coward!"

"Minister," Snape said, letting the silence reign until the Minister of Magic was actually looking into his dark eyes - that suddenly seemed to Harry not as unctuous as an oil slick, but sticky as tar, and as mesmerising as his house's mascot.

Snape continued, "I take my vows seriously, and I have vowed to help these children to the best of my ability." Snape gave a strange expression - one that showed simply one of his teeth poking out over his lower lip - something that wasn't a smile, not nearly, but just the merest glimpse of fangs.** _No wonder people thought him a vampire!_ Harry thought with a mental chortle.

Snape leaned back, saying casually, "It's hardly my fault if the best move for a neutral party is to leave Britain, now is it?"

"My good man, think about what you're doing! Britain can hardly stand if her best and brightest leave!" Minister Fudge said frantically.

"Potter, Malfoy, stand up." Snape's voice cracked commandingly across the Great Hall. Harry Potter stood quietly, at some reasonable facsimile of parade rest. Draco Malfoy, as usual, managed to look significantly more dignified and elegant.*** Harry Potter was just relieved that his own face probably didn't look like he thought he was in trouble.

"Gryffindor," Snape's voice cut, cold as glass and dark as a moonlit night, "Will you do The House of Bravery proud? Will you show us the courage to leave Britain, and set yourself an example for your peers?"

Harry Potter's spine stiffened under the weight of Snape's words, and when he spoke, his voice was ice cold - and determined, "I will not."

"Slytherin," Snape said, his voice purring, that peculiar 'you're on very thin ice' tone that Snape loved to use, "Will you show Cunning enough to fight another day? Will you leave before the shots ring out?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he stared at Malfoy, who swallowed once before answering firmly, "I shall not."

Minister Fudge opened his mouth, as if to say something - which was a very unwise move, all things considered. Severus Snape leaned back in his chair, adopting the position of a man in charge, staring down at his subordinate, "So, you see, you needn't worry for your campaign coffers, Minister." Snape's voice purred as he continued, "Your sinecure is safe, indeed."

Minister Fudge was strangely distracted from his original purpose, looking at Harry Potter with such a naked expression of greed that Harry wanted to find some place to hide. _Nobody_wanted him like that. He hadn't _wanted_ anyone to want him like that.

Eventually (it had seemed like hours to Potter), Minister Fudge recollected his audience, and genially turned round to Severus Snape, "You have given me much to think about, Master Snape. I would ask, however, that you cease and desist any efforts to spread hysteria through the school, and through your students, to all Britain."

"If their direct experience with whom our governmental institutions are ruled by cannot sway them, I fear my rhetoric is but a poor shadow, insubstantial and unlikely to change their stubborn minds." Snape said, surging to his feet. "Fools, one and all!" Snape turned away at that, and his robes billowed behind him, as he swept his way out the staff door.

Which left the somewhat flummoxed Minister Fudge staring at the table, when Minerva McGonagall transformed. "I do say, sir, that you are required to get permission from the Headmaster," she paused for a moment, "Or the assistant headmaster, to enter Hogwarts Castle or its grounds. Suffice it to say, that permission has been henceforth revoked."

Minerva McGonagall sat in the seat that Severus Snape had vacated, and stared at Minister Fudge until he - rather genially and meekly, bid the whole of Hogwarts adieu.

Harry Potter hadn't liked that look on Draco Malfoy's face. It wasn't one of arrogance, nor one of pride... it had, well, Harry might have almost said, ... it looked like fear.

The rest of the student body erupted in comments directly after the Minister had left (Minerva's cold glare had kept them quiet beforehand). "Why do you suppose he did that?" Luna Lovegood asked. "Doesn't it strike you like poking a hornet's nest?"

Harry's eyes found the blonde, who had somehow managed to wind up at the Gryffindor table (Harry was mildly surprised that Snape hadn't called her on it, being in charge and all). "Of course it was. Merlin, I hope that wasn't the whole point."

Ron, still eating (always eating), said with his mouth full, "Of course it wasn't! He's a great big git, and found a way to take it out on someone his own size."

Hermione, giggling, said, "I think the Minister outweighs Professor Snape." And they all had a good, soul-clearing laugh at that one.

Harry Potter was uncharacteristically impatient. He wanted to fidget, wanted to be up, wanted to be out o' the room. He wondered if Minister Fudge had gone home, or back to the ministry. Ron was still eating, of course, and Hermione had her nose in a book. Luna was holding court (to no one, as usual), discussing Pibbitygibbets, and Harry pretended like he was listening. In reality, his ears were cocked to hear what the crowd was saying.

As was typical, the Slytherins were making fun of Fudge - Harry found himself thinking how he could have done better, and the Hufflepuffs were leaning towards a second year whose parents apparently worked at the Ministry. "Can you believe your parents work for _him_?" The Gryffindors were merrily ignoring the entire thing except for Creevy, who had deemed Snape's discourse, "cool." The Ravenclaws? Harry's gaze sharpened as he looked sidealong at them. They were busy discussing things on the merits, wondering and talking about the Minister, Severus Snape, and the odds of talking their parents into leaving the country.

This was the havoc that Severus Snape had wrecked. Harry blinked, thinking suddenly that Prof. Snape couldn't, wouldn't have done this on accident. He was far too skilled an operator for that. Ah, there were the Slytherins, boisterously poking fun at Minister Fudge's greed. Oi, was that one suggesting that Lucius Malfoy would make a better Minister? Now there was a disaster in the making, Harry Potter thought, although really, he couldn't see Mister Malfoy putting Umbridge in again. So, maybe only a different disaster, then.

By the end of the meal, half a dozen different rumors had traversed the hall, becoming half crazed indeed in the retelling. Snape was 7 feet tall, Minister Fudge a plump imp, chortling about the end of the world as if it was the second coming (to be fair, Minister Fudge had been chortling at some point, Harry was pretty sure). It was all completely implausible, and that was apparently how the gossips liked it. It seemed like only the Ravenclaws were thinking about what had been said... but even as he thought that, Harry could see, like flickers of light on the water, people's thoughts turning the conversation over in their heads. It was almost like if they didn't look on it straight, they didn't... have to confront - what, exactly?

Harry firmly set the thought to the side, as he saw Zach Smith stand up, chuffily patting his friends on the back. Harry rose too, not seeming to watch Zach so much as move towards the Great Hall Entranceway of his own volition. As he did so, he swore he saw Draco Malfoy's sharp eyes looking at him. He had the disturbing impression that Draco wasn't fooled in the slightest by his facade. Make of it what you will, Harry thought, and without looking, he heard Luna's light steps behind him, barely audible over the schoolyard din.

*Apparently Uncle Vernon was reminiscing with Aunt Marge about being young and getting a good car stereo.

**no, not literal fangs. Metaphorical fangs.

**Poor Harry. Draco's had training on all this.

[a/n: Time to shake the can again. Reviews?]


	6. Space Oddity

Harry lept through the halls, glad that Snape was still... wherever he had gone, as he had quite the temper about running in the halls (quite the temper about most things, really). He ducked down a few side passages, took a few shortcuts (getting dust all over his robes), and with a bit of grace, he was standing about fifty paces in front of where Zach Smith ought to materialize.

Any.

Time.

Now.

In the meantime, Harry took slow deep breaths, drawing on something that he had relearnt at Snape's elbow - to be able to fight, you needed to be able to breathe. Not that this was a formal duel, or anything.

_There!_ Zach Smith was waltzing down the hall, talking to Justin about something silly that Hannah had done in Herbology. Remembering back to that blasted Pensieve memory, Harry Potter traipsed out of the side passage, trying to look every inch his father's son, with all the arrogance of breeding - and the bigger arrogance of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry knew he'd managed decent like, when he saw the flash of suppressed hatred in Zach's eye. "Smith, my good man, thank you so much for taking over for me! I wouldn't ask, but I've got so much to do - Quidditch is just heating up, it is! I'm sure you'll do just fine in my shoes, don't you dare worry a whit!" Without waiting for Zach to say a thing - he was redfaced infuriated, anyways, it would take him a while, sure as it often did Ron when Malfoy was on a mean streak, Harry Potter strode out, turning around a corner.

It was only at that moment, as Harry was congratulating himself, that he realized he had no bloody idea where Luna Lovegood was.

Around the corner, Luna's clear and icy voice rang out, with a trace of warmth in its usual vapidity, "He's right, you know."

Harry pictured Zach Smith wheeling to glare at Luna. It was easy to picture his reactions, they really were quite a lot like Ron's.

"If you don't want to be living in Potter's shadow..." Harry could almost hear Luna pursing her lips, "How about doing something bigger than what he's done?"

"Bigger than... what Potter managed last year?" Zach Smith, not terribly imaginative under the best of days, asked uncertainly.

"Sure! You know, he never did manage to get any Slytherins to join..." Luna trailed off uncertainly.

Zach Smith's assent sounded just like he'd just nodded, "No, he really never did."

"Hey-" Here Harry pictured Luna grabbing Zach's arm, "Wouldn't it just get Potter's goat if you invited Malfoy to join?" Zach Smith let out a low chuckle, and Luna continued, "You are in charge now, aren't you?"

Harry felt an icy chill at exactly how easy Luna had pulled the whole thing off. He had the funny suspicion that even if he'd managed to convince Hermione, that she'd have had a lot more trouble getting Zach to go along. Harry didn't want to think about it, but he could, and so did, see Hermione flirting it up with Smith, just to convince him that he'd win the girls' hearts by being braver than The Chosen One. Luna didn't need such manipulation. She just laid the points down, and Smith drank them like he was dying in the desert. As Harry trundled his way back to his common room, he found himself wondering if Draco Malfoy would have taken the same bait... Snape'd know, but did Harry _dare_ ask Snape?

Harry Potter woke the next morning with two thoughts on his mind:

First, it was Friday, and that meant Defense against the Dark Arts, again. Four hours per week, because Prof. Snape was combining all the classes.

Second, it was Friday, and Harry hadn't finished his homework.

This led to a flurry of activity, as Harry's fingers flew over the physical password on his trunk.* With a sigh of relief, he pulled out a slate and parchment, and started to scribble. A 100 ways to murder a fellow student? Harry thought, putting his quill to his mouth. With a trace of a frown, he scribbled it out, tore off the piece, and started again. That had been way too ambitious anyway - wouldn't Snape sneer if Harry'd only managed, say, 66?** Harry began to write, starting with the Avada Kedavra. That was the easy one, wasn't it?

And then his mind drifted towards the other unforgivables. Harry was fairly certain that the Cruciatus curse wouldn't kill someone, but the Imperius? That had possibilities. Harry wrote down three, one in which the Imperius was allowed to drop while the person was standing pointe blanke in front of a moving muggle vehicle, a second where the poor victim was told to ingest a poison they couldn't recognize (there was a sidenote beside this about 'why it is important to study potions thoroughly' - it almost felt like brownnosing, but Harry'd actually meant it, so he let it slide).

After ten more murderous spells, Harry scattered sand on his parchment, and stood up. He could hear Ron stirring anyway, and Ron was hardly going to leave him in his bed, working on a homework assignment.

Ron and Harry, showered and combed, spilled down the stairs into the common room as usual. Hermione's face lit up at the sight of them, "Boys!" she cried.

"Food!" Ron responded, grabbing Hermione by the hand and dragging her down the hall, as Harry laughed beside them.

As they sat down to eat (it was Bacon Day, so Ron was competing for how many pieces he could stick in his mouth at once. His record was forty, so he was competing against himself. Malfoy had just as big a mouth, of course, but 'far too much dignity' to ever participate in an eating contest). Hermione ate, as usual, while reading a book. Harry Potter found himself inexplicably lonely, even sitting by his best friends.

Which might explain what happened next - Harry's mind drifted towards Snape's assignment, and he found a few more juicy spells. Without really thinking about it, Harry pulled out the parchment and wrote down a few more spells, along with notations on how one could use Aguamenti to actually murder someone.

Harry was preoccupied enough that he failed to notice the several sets of eyes on him, watching the less-than-studious pupil working at the breakfast table.

"I truly dinna believe it." McGonagall said to Snape, her eyes still trained on Harry and his homework. "Bother's to Betsy that's your assignment he's workin' too."

Severus Snape did not bother to respond to this, but continued eating, his eyes suspiciously well trained on his plate, as he used his peripheral vision to watch the entire room's activities.

Snape's eyes, that missed nothing, large or small, certainly saw Potter's renewed scribbling at lunch. They also saw Hermione saying primly, "That's what you get for not finishing your homework the night before." Harry Potter, still scribbling, forebore to tell her that he had finished his work, and had only found a new idea when he hadn't been expecting one.

Snape laid a soft and silent bet that Potter'd still have fewer items than Granger, despite clearly putting more effort in. At least, from the sight of things, he hadn't done so in Transfiguration class. If that'd been the case, Minerva herself would have put a claw or two in Snape's leg, and nevermind that he needed to be in fighting condition.

His eyes narrowed, as he looked at a Ravenclaw, fidgeting in his seat, stealing sidelong glances at one of Snape's Slytherins. Fool boy, with even more foolish goals, if he'd set his eye on that particular serpentine temptress. She liked to play with her food, and insecure boys like him made a tantalizing treat. Snape made a mental note to deal with her, if she didn't show signs of growing up soon. She was in seventh year, after all, and would soon be out of his grasp. Snape smiled slowly, a plan forming in his head. People had often wondered why he liked Potions so much - the truth was? Potions fixed everything. Eventually.

His sharp eyes found Draco Malfoy, who for once was behaving like a snake and not a boar - quiet enough to not get into trouble with Potter, at least, and Snape privately held that was some sort of Miracle that could be laid at the Dark Lord's feet. Snape idly wondered if Draco would join... Wild horses wouldn't have stopped Snape himself from joining - an adolescent part of him had fervently craved acceptance. The adult he had become had simply accepted that he'd never fit in, and damn anyone for trying to make him.

Weasley was still mooning over all the surfeit of feminine attributes at Table Gryffindor. Snape hoped he could pawn off that particular issue on Minerva, but she was always so tricky to maneuver... And she seemed to think that letting young fools 'get what they deserve' was an excellent plan, even when it meant their comeuppance. Gryffindors always did pride their independence - a luxury Snape beat out of his Slytherins within their first term. Slytherins save each other, Slytherins watch out for each other, repeating the words until even the shiftiest, slyest first year knew that to disobey meant a fate worse than death. Not that Severus Snape had to lift a hand... oh, no. His house would follow his will, and without him saying a damn thing.

Harry Potter was torn between running down to class, hanging back and showing up at the last minute, and trying to see what everyone else was doing. As it turns out, there was a lot of Everyone Elses, so Harry Potter wound up arriving around the middle of the pack (quite literally, as he'd been swept away by the herd heading to DADA, or whatever Snape wanted to call it when the Ministry wasn't looking).

To no one's surprise, Snape hadn't arrived beforetimes. Harry Potter wondered if Snape's habit of precision timeliness was simply because he didn't want to teach the dunderheads for a minute longer than was strictly required. Not the sort of question one ought to ask a Potions Master, not if one valued limiting his consumption of potions to those strictly required for good health.

Everyone stood around (there were no seats in class, which Harry considered a good sign - this was a class that ought to have a heavy practical emphasis, so lecturing was really mostly unnecessary) in groups of friends, which were by and large by House affiliation. Seamus and Dean were joking around with Neville, Ron and Hermione were talking together (it looked like Ron was still trying to sneak glances at Hermione's paper, possibly to steal a few more answers). The Slytherins were gathered in two knots, one male, one female - except that Pansy Parkinson was hanging on Malfoy's arm. Malfoy didn't precisely look happy about this, either, and Harry Potter swore he saw the young man's ears go flat when Pansy called him "Drakey-poo." Harry didn't blame him, that nickname was emvile/em (worse than Won-Won, which Harry'd had the misfortune to overhear Lavender nicknaming Ron in a conversation with Parvati).

Snape slid through the closing door like a silk scarf, sliding between groups of children until he had hopped up on a dais barely large enough for his two big feet. "Class," He began, his soft purr of a voice bringing a seventh of the Hogwarts student body to mirror-smooth silence. "In the main, spellcasting is a solo art. Anyone with a bit of skill can transfigure a parchment into a pen, or vice versa. Charms are even more a lone talent, as sharing your magic with another is a most delicate and intimate act. Far easier, safer, and more reliable to simply cast Aguamenti oneself, assuming even basic capability." Snape's eyes found Goyle and Crabbe at this, who eventually nodded slowly.

This class is different. In a war, one must relie on one's comrades as if they were part of your own body. A shield can cover you, while you conjure birds to attack, or turn the enemies' legs to mush." Harry Potter tried not to take that line too literally, but he was certain his gaze was tinged a little green with nausea. That's what you get when you picture a darkhaired man, torso arms and head, vainly reaching up, trying to stand on legs that were nothing more than puddles. Snape turned and pinned Neville Longbottom with his black gaze. Neville straighened in response, as Snape continued, "As such, we will pair you off to evaluate each other's homework assignments." Snape cast his dire glare around the room, as he solemnly intoned, "I will say this only the once: Teams are not yet fixed. There will be no complaints about the pairings, today or any day. You should consider yourself fortunate to avail yourself of my expertise, when it is available." Professor Snape gave a smug smirk, and began from the top of the list.

As this wasn't Sprout, who would have started by last name, Snape, true to form, started by overall grades. "Malfoy, Granger." He said, and the pair's eyes met in a sudden clash from across the room. Harry's hand tightened slightly on his wand (he hadn't let it out of his hand since the class had started.), as he silently resolved to watch them. Harry found himself paired with Goyle of all people, and his eyes had flicked up to Snape's, wondering what exactly was going on. Was this just an insult? Was there more to it than that? Harry began to read Goyle's responses, and saw that - despite the misspellings - there were glints of real promise on the page. Goyle'd mentioned anaphylactic shock - and that _wasn't_ something on the usual curriculum. Nor was it what he'd expected from the brute of a boy. That was a death subtle and devious... worthy of a true Slytherin. Harry shook his head, embarrassed at himself, for having truly thought that Goyle had been mis-sorted. He was quiet, it was true, and never seemed to be the first at anything. Then again, Harry thought, Snape had truly seemed to hate the Order of the Phoenix, nearly to a one. It was only on rewatch, on watching the entire group falling into petty scraps and scrabbles, that Harry'd figured out what Snape was doing. Harry thought, with a pang in his heart, that he really ought to apologize to Goyle - and yet, instead of an apology, what came out of his mouth was a simple, and genuine, "Nice work." Goyle nodded, still reading Harry Potter's page. When he slowly looked up, he said ponderously, "I don't think our lists had one identical thing on them." Harry thought back, and nodded firmly and reluctantly, "You're right." Slowly, after a minute of looking over his thoughts, Harry continued, "I think that's part of the point."

Meanwhile, while Harry had been reading, Snape had sauntered with barely feline grace over to Malfoy and Granger. As Harry got a look at them, he noticed that Malfoy had turned a color that Harry'd never seen on his face before - a clear, watery blue, pale as ice. His hands, they almost looked like they were trembling. With suddenly sharpening eyes, Harry looked at Hermione - whose face nearly blazed. _Shite_, Harry thought uncomfortably, she looks _worse_ than when she learned about house elves. This could be really bad. Why did it have to be Snape's class? (Obvious answer: it was Snape's assignment.)

"Miss Granger," Snape drawled, "Are you trying to threaten Mister Malfoy with a homework assignment?"

"No, sir," Hermione said, her ire cooling as she stared at the Slytherin's nearly expressionless face.

"Pity," he started, "You seem to be doing such an impeccable job, unintentional or no." Snape purred, before wheeling and walking on.

Most people had turned away when Snape had tromped off, attending to their own assignments. Harry, vaguely aware that Goyle was - shaking? beside him, still kept a weather eye on Hermione and Malfoy. "Professor," he heard Hermione say in a low, calm voice that gave him a cold shiver up the spine. Professor Snape stopped, looking down his nose at Brown and Parkinson, both of whom looked like they'd much rather be talking about hair products than having Snape look over their shoulder.

"Hmmm?" Snape said quietly, his eye meeting Hermione Granger's for an instant, before returning to looking over the two fidgeting girls' shoulders.

"These are listed as muggle, muggleborn, half-blood, and pureblood. Do I count each use as a quarter?" Hermione asked plainly, her voice still soft as featherdown. Harry's eyes instinctively looked at Malfoy's, but there was a suspicious blankness there - not the triumph that Harry'd been expecting. Whatever Malfoy had meant to happen with this list, he hadn't meant _this_ reaction, it would seem.***

"Yes, that would be wise." Snape said, moving on to where Finnegan was wryly making faces with a Ravenclaw rather than actually evaluating their work.

Harry's eyes flicked towards Goyle, who was looking down at his shoes, and mumbling to himself. Quietly, Harry slipped a bit nearer, hearing the mumble resolve into: "Wasn't supposed to know. It's Snape's class, why can't he grade us himself? Not supposed to be noticed."

Harry smiled a thin, tight smile at that, raised a hand, as if to clap it on Goyle's broad shoulder, before thinking better of it. Instead, he nudged Goyle with his own shoulder, which had about the effect of dropping a feather on a boulder. Still, Goyle looked up, and Harry said, "It's okay. I wasn't allowed to get better marks than my cousin, all through primary school."

Goyle looked at him in more confusion than surprise.

"It's _okay_." Harry repeated, leaning on the second word and hoping that Goyle would understand. Slowly, a cautious realization seemed to dawn in Goyle's eyes, as he nodded quietly, almost thankfully, at Harry.

Hermione Granger's voice impinged on Harry's conversation at this point (on most people's, really), as she spat at Malfoy, "How do you even know all this? This is all Dark Magic!"

Smirking, Draco Malfoy, in a softer tone that still carried (at least to Harry's ears), "I am my father's son. He's quite the collector you know. I am required to know what he'd like to acquire - and what he's sworn will never cross his threshold."

"I suppose you're looking to gather all the Muggle and Muggleborn hurting ones?!" Hermione said shrilly.

Draco Malfoy yawned ostentatiously, his arms over his head, as he shook his head, "Those are quite a bit less useful in the circles my father is generally in, believe it or not." He shook his head firmly, and said, "He's more concerned with the side-effects on the user, than on who it can kill, maim, or dismember." Hermione Granger didn't have anything to say to that, so into the silence, Malfoy (ever the git) asked, in a state of worried perplexity, "Did you really find a hundred ways to kill someone with a _spoon_?"

Hermione Granger returned a bright, almost disturbingly cheerful grin, as she nodded.

"I fear the cutlery are revolting!" Draco Malfoy said, still pale, and then (Harry only caught this a moment later) waved his wand inside his sleeve.

Hermione Granger looked down at her skirt, and below, to her now Slytherin green socks. "Why you!" Her hands were trembling fists, as her face turned red as Weasley hair.

Draco Malfoy's eyes glittered with a malevolent gleam, "You can't, can you?" he said softly. Harry palmed his wand, still in his own sleeve, and prepared for this class to actually turn into Defense. Or offense, or something like that.

Draco Malfoy yelped, turning around and looking to see who had stung him with the Stinging Hex. Behind him were two Ravenclaws, a brunette and a blond.

Neither of them, of course, were the issuer of that Hex, though they both were flinging enough small spells between them that it looked believable. No, that was Snape, by now halfway around three Hufflepuffs nearby, who was... discretely trying to suggest to Malfoy to keep order in the class.

It didn't work, but not because of Malfoy. Hermione Granger had taken advantage of Malfoy's distraction to land a solid punch into his cheekbone, sending him down to the floor. Standing over him, still panting, Hermione Granger hissed something at Malfoy that Harry'd bet was "change them back." Draco, hand on his already swelling cheekbone, simply smirked.

In a deadly silent tone that seemed to mesmerize the class, Snape hissed, "If you cannot use words instead of spells, I will take your wand for the remainder of the class." Only, Snape wasn't looking at Malfoy and Granger (the words didn't make sense for that, either) - he was hissing at the two Ravenclaws. "And you will be target practice regardless of your inability to defend yourself."

Both Ravenclaws tried to look guilty and "puppy dog" innocent at the same time, while looking attentive to his words. Harry was certain they wouldn't stray... at least for this two hour interval. A quick glance told Harry that Hermione and Malfoy were both standing, trying to resemble attentive classroom partners, rather than hexing rivals.

Snape's jet eyes searched the class, nodding slightly as he finished. "As you have no doubt deduced during this exercise, it is almost unspeakably easy to murder someone, whether by use of magic, or simply dropping a mallet on someone's head." Snape looked at a few Hufflepuffs, Bones among them, who looked like they wanted to say something about the nature of the assignment, "All questions about morality will be relegated to office hours. Although I will note that nearly every person here has a friend, and if you do decide to go on a murderous rampage, you really ought to watch your back." The slight twitch of Snape's lips meant that he wasn't excluding himself from the vengeance-seekers (was it justice, considering he was a teacher? or merely a course-correction considering he'd assigned them the ridiculous assignment in the first place?), and Harry Potter slotted that alongside Snape's comment from last class about being on your side (the class as a collective whole, Harry now supposed.)

"There's really no need to start a war about it." Snape knit his long fingers together, one atop the next, as he asked, "What is war for?"

Hermione Granger raised her hand, and Harry Potter suppressed a smile. He knew better than to answer the question, but he also figured Hermione had a decent answer. "War is for when talking - politics - has failed."

"Close, but not quite," Snape said firmly, "War is politics by other means. Can anyone elucidate what I mean?"

Hermione, for once, kept her hand down, her teeth working over her lower lip. One of the Ravenclaws raised his hand, "If your arguments aren't persuasive, you can attempt to pound the other person's face in. Or, if magical, you can hex their mouth shut."

"And that works only so long as...?" Snape purred.

"So long as you're stronger than the other guy." Harry Potter responded. The Death Eaters thought they could win by being terrorists, and so they were pretty firm about their strategy.

Snape nodded acknowledgement, wending his way through knots of students as he addressed Potter directly, "So, in this class, am I going to teach you to be stronger than the other guy?"

"No, sir." Harry Potter said crisply, "I can assume the other guy has double my talent, and quadruple my experience."

"So, class," Snape said, turning away from Harry Potter, "What am I going to teach you?"

Gregory Goyle spoke up - his voice sounded like he was speaking through marbles, he spoke so slowly with a voice of stone, "Will you teach us Dark Arts, sir?"

"No, I will not, Mister Goyle. The Dark Arts are unreliable at best, and always alluring - even addictive. Not a single one of you here today could reliably cast one. Harry Potter might manage one. On a really bad day, for the rest of us." Snape's laughter was cold, and Harry's heart sunk as he was mentioned - and then began to burn, with a rage that he hadn't let himself feel for months. It almost, well, felt good. Why couldn't Snape just leave him Alone!

Harry Potter had known, as a first year, that Snape's glare could turn people to stone (even the Weasley twins). He directed a glare at Snape that he hoped would set him on _fire_.

"The point of this class, ladies and lords, is to teach you to survive. Nothing more. Potter's right when he says you won't be good enough to be a champion, a hero, or whatever nonsense Gryffindor House believes itself capable of." Snape looked over the class, and brightened (only in his eyes) to see that even the Gryffindors were taking him seriously (Brown, in particular, looked daunted). "Try to survive, if you can. I find, if you manage that alone, everything else will take care of itself."

"Now, as this class will be about survival during this war, I'll ask you to determine fields and realms of study. Create a curriculum, if you will. If you are particularly thoughtful or fortunate, I may heed your suggestions." Snape gave them all one last look, and despite the fact that there was still a good hour to his class, he said, "Class dismissed."

Harry Potter didn't move, his eyes burning into Snape's expressionless gaze. Distantly, he realized that Hermione and Ron were looking uneasily at him (and he had enough presence of mind to hope that they were the only ones). Almost as if pro forma, Snape said laconically, "Potter, stay after class." Acknowledging the inevitable, one might say - because it would have taken four horsemen to drag Harry Potter out of the classroom at that moment.

Harry Potter felt the last person**** leave like someone slamming the door to hell shut, although the door closed remarkably quietly. Harry was so angry he was shaking, and he took a deep breath, holding it in, and then letting it out.

Snape's eyes met Harry's, as he nodded firmly. His wand began to wave, drawing intricate lacework spells as he wove True Silence into the weft of the classroom's reality. After a single last gesture, he was done. "I should thank you, Potter, for saving your shouting for after class." Snape said gravely, continuing, "You know how I loathe petty distractions."

Of all the ways to greet a young man boiling over with anger! Harry was daunted, briefly, thinking that perhaps... And then, something shifted in Potter's face.

Quite simply, he didn't _care_.

"Why?!" He blasted, like a foghorn over a river, "Why did you have to single me out?" Harry said, his anger turning into action, arms gesturing with precise, tight movements as Harry's compulsion to act drove him to start circling Professor Snape.

A third of the way around, he wheeled on an ankle, looking up into Snape's eyes - with teeth bared. "I don't like the attention! I don't want the attention. I don't want anyone thinking I'm the next Dark Lord!"

All the winds deflated out of him, at that thought, as he looked at Snape, and suddenly asked, "I'm not - am I?" The question was quiet, uncertain - and an expression of faith. That Snape, of all people, would be honest - at least in this.

Snape's lips flicked up, for a split second, "I would find that to be rather farfetched. If you held me at wandpoint, and forced me to tell you who in that room would make the best candidate for prospective dark lord, I would have to name Neville Longbottom."

Harry's responding bark of laughter sounded about as split-psychotic as Sirius had on a bad day. "Then why'd you mention me? You _did_ have a reason, didn't you?" Harry managed a look that would have suited Albus better - the 'I know you better than you know yourself' look.

"I always have a purpose. Nearly always have several." Snape said shortly.

"Can you tell me this one, at least?" Harry Potter asked, his anger still sizzling, but he was mastering it, holding it close and turning his voice away from the spitting his anger so dearly wanted.

"I suppose. Easy answers first." Snape said, taking on a teaching mien that Harry was well familiar with from Potions. Simply put, with word and gesture, Snape was saying, "don't interrupt."

"When I said that, what do you think people heard? Do you truly think that Miss Granger or Mister Weasley (indeed any of them) thought that you could use the Dark Arts successfully?" Snape asked, studying Harry Potter carefully.

"Of course, Ron didn't." Harry said, pausing uncertaintly, "I'm... not sure about Hermione. I could ask." This last, low sentence was said in the way that people walked to their own hanging.

"Every single one of your friends," Snape began, "No, even your enemies, and people who have scarcely heard of me, know what an antipathy I have nourished for you. And, from you, as well, I suppose."

Harry Potter looked at him, blinking slowly behind those thick glasses - his eyes slowly widening, "You don't think they'd believe you!"

"Why should they?" Snape said. "Do you want to hear another reason?"

Harry blinked. This would have been enough to satisfy him. But here Snape was, offering him... more. "Yes, sir." Harry responded, suppressing any stray eagerness. He did not want to look like a puppy.

"About ninety percent of the audience wouldn't think anything of what I said. And the other ten percent won't think hard about it today, either. There are, believe it or not, students who look up to me." Snape said.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that. Saying something that you expected to have someone think about later... That wasn't the way anyone he knew would think, could think, would plan on happening. "What, do you expect, might cause them to think about your words?"

Snape's lips twitched, again, "Why, they might become fully fledged practitioners of the Dark Arts."

Harry Potter just looked at Professor Snape, with rapt attention, although he was rapidly considering that Snape's knowledge of the Dark Arts was something like an abyss - it was possible to get into it, and barely possible to get out, but it was very difficult.

"Truly black magic is created out of intent. Hatred, primarily, although the truly evil can create vile magic out of unadultered sadism. Chief example among which is the Cruciatus Curse," Snape began*^*, and Harry found himself thinking of Bellatrix Black, her face twisted into a caricature, loathing and repulsion at the fore. "The Ministry of Magic, being a bureaucratic institution, has decided to lump all magic it deems dangerous, unproductive, or is merely afraid of, as Dark Arts."

"True Dark Arts are a different matter entirely." Snape said, "They arise out of helplessness, hopelessness, uselessness. You might term it a survival instinct. Unlike black magic, this is pure resistance to being conquered. At the last, when everything and everyone has failed you, your mind turns to the Dark - and conjures a darkling light."

Harry Potter tried to comprehend this, his mind taking him back to his cupboard under the stairs. He asked himself what he would have done if they'd locked him in, and thrown away the key. Certainly he'd wondered about that very thing, often enough.

"Dark Arts, without exception, are more powerful than what an individual can normally accomplish. They are also highly individualized, and resist systematization with a will of their own." Snape said.

Harry Potter asked the obvious question, but with a good deal more trepidation than normal, "If they're so powerful, why doesn't everyone learn them?"

"First, they're a crutch and a cheat. Nearly everyone will be stronger by taking the long road of building their knowledge and power the ordinary way. Some, like Miss Granger, will be more powerful in the short term, even." Snape said, seemingly unaware that he'd complemented a Muggleborn. His tone was clinical, and it was merely an observation, even if it surprised Harry to hear it from Snape's mouth.

"Second, they're addictive. If the only way you have to survive is to train yourself into that peculiar brand of hopeless, helpless fulminating rage... It starts to become something you seek out. In war, that will, one hundred percent of the time, get a person killed. In peacetime, it is scarcely better." Snape said sternly.

"Thirdly, to push someone, shape them into a mindset where they can use the Dark Arts, is to break them, in mind and soul. Not like using a mace or a sword, this is corrosive, because the Dark Arts run on a sense of betrayal that runs bone deep." Snape said. "I will not teach any of my students the Dark Arts, not if I can find any way around it."

Harry's lips thinned into a line that was the precursor to a smile that never materialized. He had learned, this past summer, the many twists of a Slytherin mind. A determination like that was not easily misled or bamboozled. "Sir, you said that the Dark Arts are unreliable...?"

"I lied." Snape said smoothly, "And I will continue to lie, to prevent students from deliberately trying to maim themselves or their friends in pursuit of power."

"So, why me?" Harry Potter asked directly, trying to understand what was going on, "I'm no mindhealer..."

"No, you aren't. But you've been through enough to want to help these students, and that may be their only saving grace." Snape said, starting to pace, "Make no mistake, I meant precisely what I said in class - I could have you casting Dark Arts spells reliably, within a day." Snape's face tried to smile, but it came out looking far more like a snarl, "It would be easy."

"And yet you say that Neville..." Harry started, timidly, considering his every word.

"Neville Longbottom holds his rage deeply. He's not practiced in quenching it - he nourishes it, it impels him to great deeds." Snape said, looking down at Harry Potter. "You're not angry right now, are you?"

"No," Harry said, tasting the word as it fell from his lips. He really wasn't, he thought, he was getting answers, and this lesson was kinda interesting. Horrible, but interesting.

"That's why young Draco Malfoy tweaks your tail, you know. It's nearly safe - you get upset, he has a laugh, and twenty minutes later it's all water under the bridge." Snape said, "Oh, you don't like him, but you've never liked him, so what harm's been done?"

"If he tried the same with Longbottom..." Snape let his words trail off, and Harry Potter saw an image of Neville's meaty fists beating Malfoy into a pulp, "but he wouldn't, he knows better." Snape's lips quirked, for a moment, as he said, "He's even learnt his lesson with Miss Granger, I believe."

"He hexed her in class!" Harry Potter shouted, seeming more astounded than outraged.

"Testing, always testing." Snape said with a firm basilisk stare. "If he had wanted to choose something more... damaging, he could have, I assure you."

Harry Potter resolutely turned the topic away from Malfoy, whom he really didn't want to be discussing with the notoriously biased Head of Slytherin House. Particularly when said head was likely to have a smooth answer to whatever rough question Harry could formulate. "Have you ever mastered the Dark Arts?" Harry asked, although he already knew the answer. It was a feed, a request for more information.

"I've used them, yes," Snape said lowly, "Mastery's a poor term for a peculiar and individualized branch of Magic, you realize?"

Harry Potter nodded shortly.

"You've heard, I believe, Black say that I came to Hogwarts knowing more Dark Arts than most 7th years?" Snape said crisply.

Harry's mouth tightened, as he nodded. He wasn't even sure why - something about the conflict between Snape and Sirius was... disquieting - itchy, almost.

"Nothing could be farther from the truth." Snape said with a smirk, his voice vehement and low. "The Marauders taught me the Dark Arts, and I was a very good student." Snape had a smugness, a certain satisfaction on his face, that Harry wanted to knock off of it. Instead, he merely fisted his hand in his robes, clutching them so as to not bleed.*~*

"Sir, did all the Death Eaters learn the Dark Arts, at some point?" Harry Potter asked, trying - and, mostly, failing - to summon sympathy for the torturers; the murderers.

Snape laughed, a dark barking boom that crossed the room and rebounded, echoing like a foghorn. "No, not even the Dark Lord would have condoned breaking his men for a bit of power." A shadow passed over Snape's face, and Harry Potter thought he was remembering a memory, "would have, I say. There are now times that I question his sanity."

Harry said, softly, "There are certain times that I question Dumbledore's sanity, sir."

Snape looked at him sharply, incisive eyes assessing truthfulness before nodding, "Hero-worship has always been a Gryffindor game. Inevitably, they wind up disappointed at the end."

"Did..." Harry asked, suddenly thinking that Snape might have looked up to Tom Riddle - as someone who had conquered his sense of hopelessness, if nothing else. The thought froze in his belly, those cruel, snakelike red eyes nearly hissing at him from Harry's own memory.

"The Dark Lord himself," Snape said softly, "And Bellatrix Black."

Harry looked at Snape attentively, and he eventually continued, as he began to pace erratically around the room. "The Dark Lord is not named so because he has a mastery of the Dark Arts, merely because he is capable of wielding them." Snape said, pausing, "It is a warning, just as much as it is a term of loyalty or of simple truth. Because you can't ever truly measure someone's capabilities if they possess the Dark Arts."

"Why not, sir?" Harry prompted.

"Because they're idiosyncratic, and likely to change. I missed the first time I cast a Dark spell, and if I hadn't, the world would have been short a Potter." Snape said with a smirk.

Harry Potter's eyes bulged at the bizarre sense of humor that would lead his Professor to humorlessly joke about his father being dead. His absentee father, who had died saving him. Yeah, that one. Harry Potter found himself remembering Bellatrix Black, pulling her into his memory and spinning her around, "Sir, did the Dark Lord _do_ something to Bellatrix? Did he _break_ her?"

Snape laughed a dark laugh, "No, Potter, she's in love with him. There's absolutely nothing dark about that." Snape said, pausing, "Time was, Bellatrix Black was a wonder to behold, a falcon swift on the wing." Snape said, his mouth relaxing as he remembered, "No, she knew Dark Arts from deep in her childhood, as I suspect did the Dark Lord, though he never talked of his past."

"What, what happened to her?" Harry Potter said, "It's only, she looks so different, acts so different from her sisters..."

"Bella Black stood in front. Whenever her father was in a temper, she was there to take the blow. Her mother, her younger sisters, they all stood aside." Snape said, "She was always strong-willed, but she loved her family dearly, and she couldn't stand to see someone harmed if she could help it."

Harry Potter shook his head, almost unwilling to see the girl, brave beyond her years. The woman had been a crazed torturer.

"Azkaban corrupted and corroded her - not that the Dark Lord's beliefs haven't shaped her beforetimes, you understand." Snape said. "She truly thinks of the impure blooded that they are beneath her, subhuman really." Snape shook his head, "It's the only way she can bear to do it, you see. Shake that belief, and she'd collapse like a pile of cards."

Harry Potter looked at Snape, wide-eyed - he truly hadn't given any thought to how she'd managed to accomplish such feats of raw sadism...if they weren't sadism...

"That was not a request." Snape said curtly, and Harry Potter blinked, only with difficulty shifting himself back to the conversation.

"Bellatrix Black was perhaps the only one of the original cadre of Death Eaters - Knights of Walpurgis that was in any way admirable." Snape said, consideringly, his eyes unfocused, seeming to look into the past.

"Riddle had charm, certainly, and Goyle and Crabbe strength - and Lucius, even then, had a unctuous manner that bent truth as easily as an eagle steals fish." Snape shook his head, "Bella, though - she saw truth through those flinty eyes of hers. And where she saw it, she'd glow like a fire. Righteous and Vengeful at the same time." Snape shook his head again, "I miss her."

Harry stood respectfully silent, his fingers playing against one another behind his robe. Snape was speaking as if the person he knew was dead. And, perhaps, she really was. Certainly, Harry Potter had never seen her like that - tall and strong. Through Snape's words, he could almost picture it, mentally redrawing the mentally deranged person he'd met, as someone who'd been... more.

Harry's thoughts twisted, juked over to Sirius - what, really, had he been like, before Azkaban? Oh, he'd seen Snape's memory, and sure, that was at least a part of him. Lupin hadn't - but Lupin wouldn't, perhaps couldn't, look on his old, dear friend as if he was a shambolic wreck.

"Dangle just a bit of truth to the masses, and let them learn the hard way." Snape said, consideringly, "Yet another reason for pointing you out. Give them the idea that someone can learn Dark Arts - dangle the possibility in front of them."

"Why would you do that, if you don't want them to learn them, sir?" Harry Potter asked, confused.

"Because they might learn it by accident," Snape snapped, his tone harsh but his eyes looking offscreen. Harry wondered if he'd learned the Dark Arts by accident, and then mentally shook his head at himself. Of course he had. James and Sirius wouldn't have intentionally given him power.

"You care, you realize?" Snape said, shaking his head, "Were someone damaged to land on your doorstep - I don't think you have it in you to turn away."

Without nodding, without moving a muscle, Harry Potter stood there, wondering whether that was a Good Thing or not. Hesitantly, he decided it was both.

"Drawing someone back from the edge, pulling them out of the abyss - it's not nearly as hard as you think." Snape said, spinning on his heel, offering over his shoulder, "But it's impossible if you don't care." Snape turned around, spreading his hands, "Someone who's given their heart, their mind, even their soul, to desolation - they have a million ways to slip through someone's fingers." Snape's eyebrows rose slightly, "It takes determination, persistence, even patience, to win them back."

Snape paused, taking a deep breath, quirking an eyebrow as Harry was silent still. "You might wonder why the Dark Lord (aptly named, he of the perpetual ace up his sleeve) doesn't deliberately break his servants, and then reforge them." Snape shook his head, "It's a fate that one who's already shared it wouldn't wish on anyone. Better to be as mindless as the Longbottoms, surely."

Snape let those words hang in the air, and Harry listened, his mind paging back to seeing them in St. Mungos'. They had looked so fragile, so frail - and yet so ... alive. Not like their souls were gone, not shapeless husks. Just...mindless. Staring blankly into the distance, until you almost swore they'd forgot to blink.

"And one more reason," Snape said after a fair bit of silence had descended. Harry tilted his head in consideration, listening. "You weren't just yelling at me once the class had left..." Snape said, looking suddenly at Harry, "Were you?"

Harry Potter considered, and then said outright, in a voice that both objected and assented at once, "_No_ssir." Snape looked nearly impassively at Potter, clearly waiting for him to explain himself.

"It's not just you, alright?" Potter burst out, and then, collecting himself, "But you just had to complain about me being a - celebrity."

"Oh, brighten up, Potter," Snape drawled, "You needn't have taken that so personally, when you were certainly so ill-acquainted with it, in the first place."

"Did you really have to single me out, though? First day of class and all that? A personal pop quiz just for me?" Harry Potter demanded, his voice rumbling low with suppressed anger.

"Have to?" Snape said, his brow furrowing slightly. "No, lad, I wanted to."

And that statement stopped Harry cold. He simply stared at Snape, silently compelling him to finish his thought. After a lengthy pause, Snape continued. "It certainly was helpful when young Draco Malfoy would come home to his father with all the torrid, lurid tales of Potion Master Snape's quite personal antagonism for The Boy Who Lived, wasn't it?"

Harry's mouth worked slowly, not really saying anything, as if he was chewing on thoughts. And so he was. He hadn't, not really, rethought any of that. But if Snape was who Harry had observed him to be... then he quite certainly had had more than just one simple ToDo on his calendar for that day. And it certainly didn't read "Pick on the new, famous Potter."

"if it's any consolation," Snape said slowly, "You couldn't have done a thing about your celebrity. Even a complete ignoramus would have gotten attention in your shoes. 'Boy who Lives is a Dullard! Board of Directors puts Dumbledore on Trial for inability to teach Boy Who Lived!' The headlines would have been atrocious and repulsive."

"I'm just..." Harry started slowly, his voice gaining momentum as he went, "so sick of people not even bothering to look at me. All they see is what they've been told to see - and that's it. They don't know my favorite move in Quiddich, they don't know when I'm sick, or when I'm faking a smile. They don't see me at all."

"Well, that is something you can fix." Snape said, "If you want to live in the limelight your entire existence." Snape let out a soft snort, "I can think of worse punishments, truly." Snape studied Potter, and then said slowly, "Or, you could consider it a trade. Not living in the limelight ensures that you can have some privacy."

"Yeah, with a hat." Harry said with an impish grin.

"Or Polyjuice, should you ever prove capable of brewing it." Snape said with a smirk. "Be anyone you like, and defy the world to rat you out. Draco Malfoy would have trouble finding you in a crowd, under a different face - you realize that?"

Harry found himself smiling, suddenly, just the thought of freedom, even at the bottom of a bottle, felt liberating. Light at the end of a tunnel, you might even say.

"How's your assignment going?" Snape asked, his voice almost deliberately impassive.

Harry blinked, turning aside from what he'd been thinking about, "Time will tell, sir. I've gotten Smith involved, and he's too touchy to prod too often," Harry had to ask himself if Snape really cared about the assignment, or if his almost disinterested voice was showing his true feelings. If he really cared, well that might have been reason alone to stir Potter up in class. Harry deliberately set that aside. No, there were easier ways to give Harry detention - and more importantly, there were quicker methods to discuss something of importance, which was quite a thing with an impatient cuss like Prof. Snape.

Snape nodded, "Indeed, but I was speaking of your other assignment."

Harry nodded, saying, "I haven't had a chance to work on it yet."

"See that you do, then." Snape said. "And, in the future, _try_ to remember that silencing spells mean that your screams will aggravate fewer students."

Harry blushed, suddenly realizing just exactly how half-cocked he had come into this conversation, "Yes sir." he said, before turning to leave. Snape canceled the spells on the door with a quick clap, and then Harry was outside, the door closed. He found himself breathing heavily... Slowly, he started to trudge up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower. He really did have stuff to think about, and not just his neglected assignment, that had suddenly had a life of its own, wrapping it's snakey scales around his chest, and giving a warm squeeze - as if to remind him that he still had to do it, and that he wasn't going to forget again.

Harry Potter strode out of the DADA room, heading up to Gryffindor tower before dinner. He wanted a moment to catch his breath, to feel the wind on his face as he stared out at the Quiddich pitch. Sadly, it was not to be. When he got up there, Ron and Hermione descended upon him almost at once. "Harry, are you okay?" Ron asked, not as worried as he'd have been last year, but still looking pretty flustered.

"Harry, you didn't-" Hermione asked, her hand tugging at his robe sleeve. Harry took one look down at her still-green socks (she was too proud to tell anyone else about not being able to change them back... of course she'd undoubtedly told Ron, but that didn't mean a thing), and waved his wand to change them back. Silently. "Oh, thank you Harry!" Hermione said with a firm hug. Harry'd had trouble dealing with her hugs at first, but a good four and a half years of them had inured him to their strength and suddenness.

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh. Friends were great, and all that, but when he'd really just wanted to get away from everything. Still, they had cared, and so he forced himself to say, "I just had some things to say to our favorite Defense Teacher." Harry paused for a moment, and then said, "Or whatever he's calling it these days." At the end, his mouth quirked, as if he was enjoying a private joke.

"Blimey! Harry, you looked like you were right about to deck him." Ron said, still worried.

"Oh, I won't deny that there may have been loud voices used." Harry said with a sugar-slow grin. "Turns out that sometimes you have to yell to get things through thick skulls."

"Oh, Harry! Please tell me you didn't just..." Hermione said, trying to suppress a fit of girly giggles.

"Of course not," Harry said with a smirk.

"Wait, what?" Ron said, blinking.

"I meant my own thick skull, Ron." Harry said, knowing that his comment wouldn't help the perpetually slow boy.

"Oh, okay." Ron said.

"Still, we're glad to hear you're alright, aren't we Ron?" Hermione said, her last three words pointed completely at Ron Weasley.

"How many?" Ron asked, and Harry blinked. Shite. He was actually... normally... dammit, he wasn't going to say he had detention if he didn't.

"None." Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "Guess he forgot." Harry smirked, then raised his eyebrows, and everyone dissolved into a sea of laughter.

At the end, Hermione said primly, "Well, he's certainly given you enough unwarranted detentions, I guess he owes you one."

Harry shrugged, "Figure he'll just assign it in Potions. I'm always behind there, anyway. You'd think I'd have stopped after my owl, but I guess I'm a glutton for punishment."

Finally, Harry was alone, as Hermione and Ron turned back to their usual preoccupations. He excused himself, and raced to the top of the tower, thinking hard on what Snape had assigned him over the summer - splitting his concentration in two - saying one thing and spelling another. It was yet another Slytherin trick - as wily as they come. There was a time that Harry'd have simply assumed that Snape had assigned the impossible, again. But not today.

Today, Harry's wand itched, and he tried thinking of spells that sounded similar. For five whole minutes, and then ten. Shaking his head, he decided this was a Hermione question, and went down to his room to lie on his bed. Tomorrow meant Charms and Transfiguration, and Harry wondered if he should practice them without using his wand. It would certainly be good practice, but it also might be ineffective, and Harry didn't want to seem like he was a goofus.

Everyone else piled into the room a half hour after curfew, and Harry was still awake, quiet, trying to think about whether anything would have changed, if Snape hadn't torn into him the first day of class, his first year at Hogwarts. Reluctantly, as if he was putting down a cherished toy, he had to acknowledge that it wouldn't have changed anything. He'd still have blamed Snape for the Stone (Snape's admittedly villainous air didn't help with that, but Harry'd had decent evidence... even if it had proved inconclusive). And if that was true, well, that meant that Harry might just as easily have started this grudge with Snape, just as Snape had his first year. It felt like something that was bound to happen, somehow. And, perplexingly enough, that made it easier to just let it go.

Now that Harry was observing carefully, he could see that Snape was trying hard to be a good teacher (at least in... Defense). Not that it seemed to prevent him from being harder on the Gryffindors. But maybe, Harry thought, that was just his own bias coming through. After all, Snape could do whatever he wanted to his Slytherins, he was their head of house, and Harry was dead certain that he'd never hear a whisper about it. And he had seen Snape punish Malfoy in class - presumably for inattention to classwork, not hexing another student without permission.

*Like a chinese puzzlebox.

**Rolemaster reference. You're welcome.

***Um, no. Of course he didn't. He didn't know that Granger would be looking at it, because Snape generally grades his own work!

****Granger. Ron doesn't know how to be quiet.

*^*Yes, when Snape was training Harry, he was primarily drawing on sadism to do so. Some people could cast a spell to torture someone with pure intent (zealots primarily - 'I will cleanse your soul'), Snape's not one of them, nor has he ever claimed to be.

*~*he's making a fist. tightly. fingernails can cut flesh easily.

[a/n: Oi. Lotta writing here. Leave a review?]


	7. The New Defense Club

Harry Potter spent Thursday in a blur, his mind resting more on the morrow and yesterday than the day itself. Charms, yes, and Transfiguration, and even Divination - which claimed to look forward, but didn't have absolutely anything to say about Friday, Or Saturday, or even Sunday. Hence worthless. He really needed to ask himself why he'd signed up for the course in the first place. It wasn't as if he needed the bespectacled bat to give him any more prophecies. Perhaps over the weekend he'd talk to McGonagall. Either he could quit, or he could take something else, right?

Harry spent his mealtimes staring at the Slytherin table, and, more circumspectly, looking at Draco Malfoy. The want to know was burning a hole in his brain, and he seriously wanted to stomp over there and ask. All in good time, he thought, schooling himself to a patience he surely didn't feel. Hermione and Ron tried to pull him onto other topics, but even Quiddich paled in comparison to what he'd been working on. Had Smith done it? Did Harry need to intervene? Would Luna know?

The same thoughts were running through his mind, as he ate breakfast shortly before Potions class. Hermione, as usual, was studying frantically. She seemed to think that if she only read over everything a little more she'd avoid being called out in class for not knowing something. Harry, having listened a little more closely to the Professor, realized that knowing everything just got her called a know-it-all, which, while true, was hardly fair for Snape to go on about, as he'd been actively encouraging the behavior!

Everyone filed into the Potions classroom, finding their accustomed seats. The room was quiet as a pin until the Gryffindor girls came in, and their lively gossip made the rest of the room relax, slightly.

Well, until Snape strode in at any rate.

"Homework, please." Snape said, and people began to dig in their satchels. Harry, who'd anticipated this, simply pulled out the parchment, and waited to pass it in. "Ah, Potter, so good of you to come prepared. That will be the first time." Snape looked down his long nose at Potter, "Make sure it's not the last." Snape's eyes gleamed malevolently, as he said sardonically, "Dashing my hopes will be dealt with harshly."

Harry had to think about that for a bit - he was busy parsing both that he'd gotten a compliment - and Snape's subtle warning that he's not supposed to look eager, or really be anything more than a slapdash Gryffindor. Harry Potter wondered how he was supposed to learn if he wasn't prepared - and abruptly remembered the twins, whose skills at potionneering were top notch. They'd know, if no one else did.

Snape saved Hermione Granger's parchment for last. As he did so, he unrolled it across his desk. "That will be four feet, Miss Granger, not four fingers. Have you lost the ability to distinguish the difference?" Snape's mouth smirked with his peculiar brand of grim humor. "Perhaps if we were to shift them around, you'd count on your feet instead?"

"No, sir," Hermione said stiffly, her body straightening as she said, "Sorry sir, but there was just too much to summarize!" In the background, Harry was aware of Draco Malfoy smirking.

"Miss Granger, time and again you have asked me if there was anything possible that you might do to earn some extra credit." Snape paused, paced three steps away before whirling to face Granger again. "If you can possibly abridge and circumcise your homework to the allotted length for the rest of the year, I believe you will find you've earned some extra credit."

You could hear a pin drop. Snape, giving, dangling, the possibility of giving Granger extra credit? To the Gryffindors, it was astounding. To the Slytherins (particularly Malfoy) it was appalling. As usual, Snape pretended not to take heed, writing his notes on the board with a swipe of his wand and saying, "What are you waiting for?" Students scurried into work, and the entire class was as silent as a tomb, with various cracks of glassware but no audible conversation.

Harry Potter, was, in some sense, relieved. Snape was still acting like the grim Potion Master Snape - he hadn't been switched with a suddenly chatterboxy, hyperactive Snape. No, apparently Snape just taught the two classes differently. Which, when harry considered, made a very great deal of sense.

Harry could hear through the Great Hall, all through lunchtime, discussion of what it meant that Severus Snape, Potions Master and notorious Hater-Of-All-Things-Gryffindor, had offered Hermione Granger 'extra credit.' Harry Potter hadn't expected Snape to just straight out offer it - certainly not in class. Harry had to wonder what his wily Professor was up to. Problem was, when he put his mind to it, it seemed like just too much of a deviation from what Snape's carefully cultivated image was. That meant one of two things - that this was yet another wrinkle in the increasingly "left on the floor for dead" tapestry that Snape seemed to be weaving... or it was a mistake. If it was a mistake, Snape was bound to put it to rights by coming down hard on the Gryffindors, probably in general (He seemed to have significantly more trouble finding something to yell at Hermione about, anyway. Suppose 'Harry Potter' makes a tempting target, Chosen One or no).

What was most interesting, Harry thought, was the expressions on the Slytherins' faces. Most of them looked uncertain, some nervous, and a few just a bit twitchy. Draco Malfoy wore a smirk, as if he knew everything about everything, and Harry mentally categorized it as "I don't know a damned thing, but I'll be _damned_ if I let _you_ know that." Which was hilarious, when you thought about it, and Harry himself might have tried it if there was any way in blazes he could act that well.

The Ravenclaws were predictably outraged, and Harry thought he saw signs of a growing consensus, with quick glances up at the High Table. Something, he thought, was brewing there. The Ravenclaws considered schooling to be their province, and had accepted Hermione's trouncing of them with predictable bad grace (though, it must be said, not nearly as poorly as Malfoy had. Come to think, Harry'd never actually asked himself if Malfoy was really just pissed off at having a girl beat him. Hiding whatever he really thought behind blood prejudice? It made a scary sort of sense - scary because it was plausible, and scary because it almost sounded like Harry was trying to understand a Slytherin, something he'd previously considered an exercise in positive timewasting).

The Hufflepuffs were actually amused. Everyone else was all fluffy about this, and this was the best gossip they'd had, well, since Snape had decided to assign people 'ways to kill their classmates' as a homework assignment.

And the Gryffindors? Well, Ron was predictably shoving food in his mouth and making a mess as always. Some things never change, Harry thought with a fleeting grin. Hermione was busy flipping through her books, absently muttering about having to throw out research. Other Gryffindors would pat her on the shoulder in congratulations - with Dean actually saying, "You actually managed to get through to Severus Snape. Congratulations!" To which Hermione, clearly not paying a whit of attention, said, "_Professor_ Snape." in the same tone that she'd always corrected Harry and Ron (to whom she _might_ have thought she was talking).

Before Harry was done eating, Hermione looked up and said, "I'll have to go ask Professor Snape about that."

Harry looked at her, noting her fiddling with her 'wand' absently. "What 'bout?" He asked, his mouth still full of food.

Hermione looked at Harry, and said with a bit of a nudge, "_You_ know."

Right, what she's not supposed to discuss in the bloody Great Hall. Harry nodded, and quickly thought, _I don't want to let her go into the dungeons alone. There's not much they can do to seriously harm her, but Malfoy's clever enough to get around that, if he wants to. _"I'll come with. I've got a few questions for Snape too."

"Professor Snape, Harry." Granger nodded, her unruly hair shifting with her head, "Right after Charms, then."

Harry knew this was a bad idea, going to see Snape. And yet, Ron couldn't be counted on to visit a professor, and Harry wasn't going to let his friend come to harm when he could possibly prevent it. Even if it was just the pesty sort of harm. All through Transfiguration, and then Charms, Harry was thinking of why he let himself get caught up in things like this. Well, when he wasn't trying to think of something to ask Snape. It didn't make sense for him to come storming in, and he didn't really have any questions about anything. But he couldn't very well show up to office hours without questions, could he? Maybe... Harry scrambled... maybe he could ask for extra reading? Something supplemental? Oh, boy, Snape would have something to say to that. Something cutting, of course. But, at least he wouldn't be telling Snape that he was down there simply because he didn't trust Snape's hold on his Slytherins. That would go over poorly, sure as Sunday.

Harry followed after Hermione Granger, whose smaller form was somehow capable of going at warp one, while still walking. Harry studied her gait absentmindedly, stretching his own to compensate. "No Running in the Halls" - if people had actually meant the speed, Minerva McGonagall herself would have assigned Hermione Granger detention, nevermind that she had a foot on the ground at all times. Hermione Granger wasn't graceful about it, even when she was walking on a mission - her stride was that of a boar, or a bull, or a cow - something too big to have to worry about what it stepped on. Not something to get in the way of. Harry'd been walking alongside Snape enough to know that he had the reflexes of a cat, and something of it's quiet, deadly grace. Snape could, and would, if it suited him, stop on a dime.

Harry really didn't want to be heading downstairs, into the dark dungeons. It wasn't, truly, that the walls of Hogwarts were scary... but the people there had no good feelings for him, and weren't really the type to stay neutral. Worse, he knew he shouldn't be doing this. Knew that it was going to upset Snape, who was pretty clearly telling Harry that they weren't chums. Harry let out a soft snort at the very thought.

But he couldn't just _not go_, even though he could hear Snape suggesting it in his mind. Hermione was his friend, and if any harm, any ill-intent, was likely to happen to her, Harry wanted to be there to stop it. That was just what friends did. Problem was, Harry wasn't certain Snape would consider that _valid_, let alone passable as an explanation. He might not even understand the thought, as anything more than pure, groundless emotion. And... that thought was _scary_. Scarier than Snape at his maddest, which had still never meant Harry had to fear for a belt, after all (and, seeing as he never had been expelled, perhaps, just perhaps, he had misread some of that. Scratch that, he was twelve, of course he'd misread it. Maybe... maybe that'd been the point. Better not to ask that question, Harry reassured himself doubtfully.)

His mind returned to Snape not understanding the concept of wanting to look out for someone else. Of watching someone else's back, with the expectation that they'd be there to watch yours, in turn. Harry nodded, slowly, thinking, _hoping_, that Snape would at least understand _that_. Sometimes, Harry reflected bleakly, the man seemed _inhuman_.

His mind turned back to something that Snape had said - something about having a friend from Gryffindor. Snape sometimes seemed so Slytherin that Harry wondered how often his friend had wound up being throttled for something completely impulsive and irrational. Maybe a lot.

And then they were there, Harry swallowing on a suddenly dry throat, and Hermione looking her cheerful self - so much so that Harry wanted to hiss at her to look at least a little bit scared - it was Snape they were speaking to, after all. Snape-who-hates-Gryffindors, and doesn't see them at office hours. Harry wanted to wince, he knew this was going to be awful. Pretend, but he hadn't told Hermione that. Wasn't sure he should, either. Wasn't his secret.

"Enter." Snape's melodious voice said, and Hermione Granger opened the door. Snape looked up at them, and Harry blinked. Snape wasn't, as was his custom, in his normal teacher's robes - or even in his shirt-sleeves. No, he was wearing the ones he'd worn to the Yule Ball (at the time, Harry'd not noticed anything was different. They were black, after all. But this was a black that had darkly shiny stripes across the arms, cut just a bit more formally, tighter in places and loser in others).

Hermione came in first, and Harry followed, both of them standing nearly at the door.

Snape said quickly, "Shut the door." and Hermione complied.

The floo in the side of his office roared into life, smoke piling out, and Dumbledore's voice rang out, "Severus, if you have a moment, I believe we should talk."

"Always, Albus." Snape said, in put upon tones that ended with a long sigh. "Bear with me a moment while I finish sorting the students. It _is_ office hours, you know."

Albus Dumbledore's voice rang out, in cheery tones, "Is this the first time you've had students in your office this year? Don't they generally wait until after?"

Snape sighed, stood, and, facing the floo, said flatly, "Your mirth is entirely unwarranted, and unsuccessful to boot. I shall be a moment." Snape's hand landed on the floo's mantle with a crack, and the audio opening closed with a flash.

Smugly smirking, Snape turned and faced the two Gryffindors, "And that would be the Ravenclaws. Right. On. Time." Snape nodded curtly at both of them, "Touch nothing, remain until I return."

Snape took a pinch of the floo powder, and said "Dumbledore's Office," before he stepped into the floo.

"Ah, there you are. Everything's sorted I trust?" Dumbledore said.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance at this. The floo was still open, somehow. Harry could hear Hermione's thought: _Snape had said they were to stay here... but he couldn't have wanted them to eavesdrop, could he? We should tell someone, or somehow not listen._ Harry, however, was freed of such elementary thoughts, though they sounded suspiciously like what he'd have said last year. Now, Harry realized that Snape indeed wanted them to eavesdrop. And so Harry gave an impish grin to Hermione, and walked forward, careful to keep far enough away from the floo to not get trampled, should there be some sort of unexpected mass exodus.

Hermione started to say, "Oh, we shouldn't-" as she approached and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. Her words were cut off as Professor Flitwick began to speak.

"Greetings, Master Snape," Professor Flitwick said in his high pitched voice, that was nonetheless trying for "cool and collected." To Harry's ear, it fell dramatically short.

"Greetings, Master Flitwick," Snape said, and Harry wondered suddenly if _everyone_ was a master (Hermione'd only _mentioned_ Snape, but she'd know. Why didn't he? That seemed like something moderately important...). "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Snape's voice dripped acid.

Harry pictured Snape looking around the Headmaster's Office, as Snape said, "All the Ravenclaws at once? This looks to be something that their Head of House could resolve, certainly?" Snape said cuttingly. "Some intrahouse argument?" Harry mentally populated the Office with at least the sixth years, and probably the seventh and fifth years as well.

Chang, unwisely, spoke up, "We're united in this, sir. Our dispute is with you."

"Re-ally?" Snape said in a singsong voice, "I can't imagine _why_ you'd have a dispute with me."

Professor Flitwick spoke up, "You offered extra credit to Hermione Granger. My Ravenclaws would like an equal opportunity."

Snape snorted, looking a bit smug, "Did I? That's odd, I do not recall." Harry could picture Snape looking smug at this, and realized (as he'd made sure to remember the exact wording) that Snape hadn't... quite... offered to give extra credit to Hermione. Harry nodded slightly at this, thinking that it was clear that Snape was Up To Something.

Harry pictured Snape striding around the room, and turning back to the Ravenclaws, as Dumbledore watched, quietly interested. Snape continued after a pause, "Gentlemen, I am not in the habit of offering extra credit for the purposes of wasting your time, as other professors do so often."

"If-" Snape said, the emphasis landing heavily on the word, "I have not offered you extra credit, it is because in my judgement, your scores are contingent on your talent and determination. That is to say, I will offer extra credit when someone's detrimental scores do not reflect their true abilities."

Harry heard the slight ruffling of robes, students shifting uneasily on the other side of the room.

Snape said, quickly - as if he was interrupting someone about to speak - "Your scores in my Potions class are coherent with my estimations. However," Snape said, pausing, "There are three of you here whose scores in my other class leave something to be desired. I believe I can see my way to providing you extra credit, if you'll make it worth my while." Snape paused, and said smoothly, "That goes for any of you. However, this is a limited time offer - if you are interested, see me before Monday."

The Ravenclaws shifted uneasily. They had come prepared to yell, Flitwick had come with arguments - and here Snape had neatly sidestepped them, and even offered them extra credit. The fact that he'd never done so before... well, he was certainly doing so now.

"If that will be all?" Snape asked abruptly, taking advantage of the general confusion. Dumbledore nodded (Harry assumed, as that question could only have been for the Headmaster), and Snape whirled into the floo.

Hermione made to open her mouth, and Snape - dark eyes boring into hers - ran a finger along his lips.

From the other end of the floo, Boot said, "Canny bastard. Didn't even bother telling us who needs the extra credit."

Haworth said, "I'm one of them. Never did do well on the written tests. Decent on the practicals though."

"Who's up for some extra credit?" Chang asked, and there was a round of murmured assent.

Snape brought his hand down on the mantle with a crack, breaking the connection. Turning towards the two Gryffindors (only barely beginning to process that Snape had just blatantly eavesdropped _in front of them_), Snape said mildly, "It is sometimes more effective to have a malfunctioning floo, rather than one in precise working order."

Harry just nodded, staring at Snape, whose expression was unreadable - again.

"_As_ for the two _eavesdroppers_ that I've caught in my office," Snape said, his voice taking on elements of parade snap. "Detention is in order." Snape pulled two pieces of chalk from the desk, and threw them at Granger and Potter. Harry Potter easily caught his, but Granger's wound up on the floor, broken in two pieces. With a heavy sigh, Snape stood, walking towards her. He passed her a new, straight piece of chalk, then bent and picked up the two white pieces on the ground. He popped them into his mouth, and began chewing.

Hermione was fighting the urge to ask a question - Harry could tell, despite not having her in his cone of vision - she was practically vibrating.

Snape gave them a heavy nod as he swallowed, "Third floor corridor, left side, inside the armor's chest. Mark when you would like detention, at least a day in advance. If I am detained or have other business, I shall cross it out."

Hermione just looked at him, somewhat confused. Harry, understanding that Snape had decided that Private Potions Lessons were a ridiculous cover when the Gryffindors were obviously up to Out-Of-Bounds Missions nearly _constantly_, smiled thinly. Better to give us 'movable detentions.'

"It goes without saying, that you will not bother me during office hours. Ever. Again." Snape said the last two words as he leaned over both Potter and Granger, and Harry fought the urge to salute.

Hermione responded with a weak, "Yes sir."

"Dismissed." Snape said, and Harry walked out of the... without having done a thing. Which, of course, he thought with a sinking heart, just meant he'd have to go back. Again.

Harry Potter, like most of the old DA, still carried his Galleon on him, and so it was Saturday Morning when it warmed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw that it read "Quiddich Pitch, under the bleachers, noon." Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Like having half a hundred students walking out to the Quiddich Pitch wasn't going to raise questions? Thinking quickly, Harry shucked on his Quiddich gear, and bounced down the stairs. Ron and Hermione were waiting down there, huddled together as if they wanted everyone to know about the signal.

"Who wants to see me on a broom this morning?" Harry Potter asked, his tenor voice booming through the Common Room. "I bet I can fly three hoops if Gin'll toss them!"

Hermione hissed something to Ron, and they both stood up, Ron said, truculently, "I bet you can't."

Hermione said snottily, "I bet it depends on how Gin'll toss 'em."

"Of course I'll help," Ginny Weasley said, "It's a bet!" By this point, their "we are speaking loud enough to wake the dead" voices had woken most of the older students (and the younger students were watching wide-eyed.)

"Third years and older please." Harry said sternly, "If I lose, I don't want to have to explain to our Head of House why I _accidentally_ taught second years unconscionable swears."

The room rumbled at this, and Ron said loudly, "Breakfast first! I'm hungry."

Everyone laughed, as they all knew Ron, and it was ridiculous to have thought he'd do _anything_ without breakfast.

* * *

Downstairs, in the Great Hall, Harry sat like a stone, laughing at everyone's antics, and generally having a high time. He was trying very, very hard to not look suspicious and he figured that being loud and boisterous would do the trick.

Across the Hall from him, Draco Malfoy apparently had had a different thought. Harry'd caught increasingly pointed glances from Malfoy through lunch (along with that jackal like laughter from Pansy). About midway through the meal, Draco Malfoy stood, and swaggered arrogantly over to Potter (How anyone with even remote association with Malfoy could think Potter was arrogant! Harry thought, before pulling his mind back on track).

The table had fallen silent. In fact, all the tables had fallen silent, except the high table, where Trelawney was talking to a frozen faced Minerva McGonagall. Even Snape and Dumbledore had fallen silent, quietly looking over at the boy in black and green.

"I challenge you to a duel on the Quiddich Pitch." Draco Malfoy said, grandly but succinctly.

"I can choose the terms?" Harry Potter asked, thankful that Hermione had, midway through second year, actually gotten him to learn the terms of a formal duel.

"You may." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes stony serious in that impassive face he'd mastered.

"Brooms only, no spells. Gin'll toss the rings, I promised she could already. Whomever gets the most, wins."

Draco Malfoy nodded, where Harry had expected him to object. "Very well, and the time?"

"After breakfast. That should give you enough time to change, if you hurry." Harry Potter said kindly, looking down at his plate then, and watching Draco's midriff move off without actually eating a bite.

Gin gave a low whistle, and said, "The whole place heard that..."

Hermione muttered quickly, "I hope the teachers don't come." Harry found himself wondering if that would be better or worse.

Slowly, Harry said, "I hope they do. They're likely to scatter everyone once the 'duel' is over."

Ron nodded, and said, "Yeah, it'll be easier to slip off if everyone's running for the hills."

Harry looked at one of the third years, and said, "Make sure the young lions show up to cheer." He smiled, but felt the smile fall from his face as the browneyed boy nearly saluted Harry.

Harry Potter calmly finished his marmalade toast, blocking out everyone as he chewed. Around him, whispers, bets and other noise faded into black. He didn't really care, after all. And this? This was an excuse to _fly_. Harry Potter frowned, slightly, as he realized that he wasn't sure if he was still banned from Quiddich, now that Umbridge was gone.

Well, surely _this_ didn't count, did it? Hoops, and two people flying - more of an obstacle course, really. Harry suddenly hoped Snape didn't show up to rain on everyone's parade, that black scowl of his radiating anger. Harry leaned back, a smirk on his face - _nah, Snape wouldn't do that, not with Draco playing around_. Harry could almost hear Snape's voice in his head, saying "goofing off", but that _had_ to be his imagination, because the idea of Snape using that word was patently ridiculous.

When Harry Potter stood, most of the hall did as well (including a few of the Professors - luckily, Snape wasn't included in that contingent.)

* * *

Arriving at the pitch, and stepping towards the shed to grab his broom, Harry wasn't at all surprised to see Draco Malfoy already there, every hair perfect (as always), and waiting for him. Gin Weasley was also there, idly twirling the hoops. Instead of the three he had expected, she had to have grabbed every single hoop that they had. They were just big enough for a skilled flyer to fly through, if one was small and agile.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter stood beside their brooms, as Gin announced the rules, "You each get one chance per ring. I'll throw each one up twice. Potter's first, as challenged - for the first ring. After that, you alternate. Winner is the person who doesn't miss one." Gin looked a little more uncertain, "What are the stakes?"

"Honor." Draco Malfoy said crisply, his eyes gleaming a challenge at Harry. Harry idly wondered what it meant that Malfoy had abandoned his characteristic drawl.

They took off, the wind biting and crisp in the autumn air. The first three ringtosses were easy, as if Gin Weasley was getting the feel of both participants. Or maybe she just didn't want either of them to look ridiculous failing on the first try. People cheered, and Harry counted - it seemed as if the Gryffindors were cheering for him, en masse - and the Slytherins were... doing their equivalent of cheering, which sounded more like jeers to Harry's ears. Apparently they wanted Malfoy to finish Harry off quickly, and stop playing with him.

How Malfoy was supposed to do this, when there was absolutely no interaction between them in the challenges... Harry shook his head, and dove for the next ring. This one came up with a bit of a wobble, and he hit one shoulder into the ring, which shivered as he flew through.

Draco Malfoy had watched with his characteristic sharp expression (congenital, that), and had caught that ring quickly, sliding through without a trace. "Do I win yet, Weaselette?"

Gin looked up, hollering, "No, you prat, Harry made it through fair and square."

"Not so fair, when he hit the edge." Draco Malfoy said.

"Leave off, I'm the referee, and I say he's good." Gin said, and Harry was glad that she was playing her part perfectly. Not that that was hard, she couldn't stand the blond ferret.

It was two more rings, each of increasing difficulty, before Gin sent up a ring spinning like a sphere. Harry dove for it, closing his eyes, and managed to hit the damn thing with his head - him and the ring diving towards the ground. He pulled up with difficulty, but the ring was already on the ground. Harry closed his eyes. It had been a fair challenge. He didn't mind losing, but he did find some annoyance at losing to Malfoy, who undoubtedly wouldn't just _let it go_.

Now Draco Malfoy just had to catch the ring, which was looking tricky. Harry, on the ground, looked up along with Gin, as she let the spinning sphere of a ring go. Malfoy waited until the ring was at its apex before diving, catching it just as it slowed. He was dead on center, but it was still spinning too fast, and Malfoy was stunned by the impact of the ring into his neck. Looking like he must be seeing double, Draco Malfoy slid lower in the sky, and then dropped to the ground, clearly thinking the ground was about a foot higher than it actually was.

Malfoy scrambled to his feet before Harry Potter could reach him, looking daggers at him.

"Draw!" Gin hollered out. "Good game, boys."

Simultaneously, two infuriated boys were glaring at her. "What do you mean?" they both demanded. As the fracas looked to turn into some hairpulling, or something, most of the bystanders were leaning forward in excitement.

Hermione leapt onto the field, projecting her voice, "Alright, aerial show's over. Clear out."

With a lot of grumbling, the stands began to empty (the teachers keeping a discrete eye on the participants, who still looked outraged.)

Malfoy and Potter kept up a line of accusations, invoking past history, each claiming the other had somehow cheated. Making a lot of smoke, and little fire, as the stands emptied out.

"Shake on it, sports. Tell each other good game." Gin's still amplified voice boomed out. Hermione stood opposite Gin, with her hands on her hips, and an itchy wand in her hand.

Malfoy held out his hand, and Harry gripped it - by his forearm, which Malfoy returned with enough strength to bruise. "Good Game." they both growled at each other, making it into more a statement of "I'm going to get you" than anything peaceful.

"Time for a shower," Harry said, as he headed towards one of the locker rooms under the Quiddich grounds. Malfoy did likewise, facing directly away from him as he did so. Harry dimly noticed his friends following him, as he was trying to act upset - and was desperately hoping he was doing a decent job. He didn't even know if Malfoy was coming, he thought wryly. Still, if he wasn't, they had still managed a damnable fine distraction. The teachers stood to leave, as Potter and his friends ducked under the bleachers.

Well over a hundred students waited for them, reds and golds, yellows, a scattering of blues - and greens. Harry Potter deliberately put on a scowl, looking at the Slytherins suspiciously. "What're they doing here?" Harry Potter growled, giving Hermione a raised-eyebrow, slightly bulging eye look when she eyed him sharply - it said 'go along with it.'

Harry Potter looked around at all the students. He was glad to see that there didn't seem to be any first years here. That would be all they needed, he thought grimly. Turning to his friends, who were still agog at the sheer number of people, he said, "Come on, let's find Smith." As he turned and started to elbow his way through the throng, he noticed that Malfoy was doing the same - less from seeing Malfoy (who was short enough to be lost in the crowd), and more from seeing the crowd itself part. Slytherins on that side, Gryffindors on this one, Hufflepuffs (and a scattering of Ravenclaws) in the center.

Smith himself looked lost, as Harry approached. Harry suddenly realized, _Smith didn't realize how many were coming... Shite, this is more than half the school..._ Some third year Gryffindors had snuck in, and Harry wanted to haul them out by their robes - suddenly, he remembered Snape screaming at him. _Shite, he was not going to act like Snape. Never did Harry any good being yelled at, anyhow - not likely it would work on other Gryffindors._

Harry reached Smith, who was trying to get people's attention - completely futilely, as there were simply too many people, and even though they were trying to be quiet. Hermione and Ron were flanking him - Malfoy had snuck over, completely without his two goons (which wasn't surprising - there they were, slowly nudging Slytherins aside).

They had to act, and reinforce Smith, Harry thought urgently. But how?

With a flick of a wrist, he twisted off his glove, and tossed it on the ground. "Stage," he instructed and Hermione (who was only pretending), and Potter set to work, transfiguring a stage to give Smith more height.

"Megaphone," Harry said shortly, using his other glove. Malfoy, catching on, started to cast a silencing spell that Hermione didn't know - Harry could tell because her eyes sparked with interest. Ron kept busy keeping other people from intruding.

They were ready, Harry thought, as Smith stepped up to speak.

"I would like to extend the hand of friendship to anyone who stands here today. To old friends and new, I welcome you today. This is the start of a select club to teach ourselves defense. If you are not interested in learning, you may step out now. If you are, however, we need you to do two things. First, sign this paper, which will keep ourselves from breaking ranks and squealing to interested parties. And Second, elect the officers from your house. They will take turns training us, so choose wisely."

The paper started among the Gryffindors first, and by the time it was done, there were already a few officers standing and waiting for them. Harry Potter wasn't at all surprised to see Malfoy standing there - he was nearly tops in their grade, and he was known for being malevolent in Defense, when pressed. Goyle, however, was a surprise.

Connor and Boot stood for the Ravenclaws - what few there were. Harry'd almost have expected Chang - but, he noticed as he glanced through the Hufflepuffs, she wasn't even here. Neither was her friend Edgecombe.

Bones and Abbot for the Hufflepuffs, and wasn't that a surprise. Harry'd have expected Smith to take one of the roles for himself; Harry did need to give the pretentious bastard some credit - he'd be far better leading if he wasn't teaching.

Turning back towards the Gryffindors, he found Ron exhorting everyone, "Granger and Potter!" Slowly, started by Neville he thought, they took up the chant. Hermione looked at him, eyes wide, and Harry, gravely, bowed. "At your service." Then they turned towards the stage, hustling over to the other teachers.

"Aren't we going to-" Sue asked.

And Smith responded, "We'll have their names, we can get them those later..."

Draco Malfoy, smirking bold as the day is long, got out his golden galleon (former Edgecombe's), and started flipping it, "Heads." he said after a moment.

Hermione started to take over the conversation, trying baldly to hide her dislike of Malfoy, "What do you want to teach?" she addressed this at Goyle, not Malfoy, and Harry was thankful for that, as Malfoy's insouciant attitude might hide any number of responses.

"What I'm good at." Goyle said, looking her over, "You?"

"Charms, I think." Granger said with a gentle smile.

Goyle looked over at Malfoy, a jerk of his head indicating the blond twit, "He'll take Potions." And Harry had the feeling that since Goyle said it, it was bound to be true.

People were dispersing, after they'd signed the sheet, which had traveled through most of the Hufflepuffs, and was currently traversing the Slytherins. Pansy said cuttingly, "This seems a little obvious, doesn't it?"

Potter, looking up at her, said, "Gotta be obvious or us Gryffs won't get it."

The Slytherins paused for a moment, collectively, seeming to think over Potter making a joke about himself.

Tori Greengrass said, with a small smile, "Knew you weren't as arrogant as ol' Snape says." Which would have been fine, if she hadn't decided to hang herself off Harry Potter like some sort of limp foxpelt.

"Professor Snape," Hermione Granger corrected almost automatically, and Ron smiled at the automaticness.

Harry Potter picked up Tori as if she was five, holding her under her armpits, and sternly said, "Off."

"Potter, you really don't have a lick of manners at all, do you?" Malfoy said, in his usual drawl.

"Nope, fraid not." Harry Potter said affably. He held back the crack about being raised, not in a barn, but a broom cupboard. Even at his crankiest, he knew better than to give _Malfoy_ ammunition.

By this point, everyone had left (even Tori gamboling after her sister), and the paper was down to them. They passed it around, until it got to Malfoy. He was the last person there, and he said gravely, "I'm not signing this. I'll come, but I'm not signing this."

"Why not? Everyone else signed!" Hermione Granger snapped out, hands on her hips in a danger sign that they all knew well.

"_Exactly_. I'm a Slytherin, you should already know I'm good for keeping this a secret." Malfoy drawled, seeming not to notice the crackles of magic coming out of Granger's hair.

"Malfoy!" Granger snapped, her voice crisp and exasperated all at once, "All the _other Slytherins_ signed!"

"Which is why I don't need to." Malfoy said smoothly, with an unruffled drawl.

Well, Harry thought, this was probably what Snape was talking about, when he said let Draco do as he wanted. Still... there was nothing Harry liked better than giving Malfoy a hard time.

"You say you can keep a secret. We remember first year, when you went squealing to McGonagall lickety-split!" Potter said, his voice mocking.

"That was a Dragon!" Malfoy snapped back, all pretense of equanimity forgotten. "You were three first years!" Harry Potter idly caught the wounded puppydog look that Goyle was giving Malfoy, as if he'd never heard about any of this...

Ron cut in, bless his heart, "I don't trust you."

Hermione concurred, saying, "Neither do I."

Harry Potter eyes gleamed, and he said slowly, "Let Malfoy do as he pleases. I've got a few hexes I've been dying to try on someone... we'll know if you squeal." The last was said smugly.

Smith said grandly, "Then we have everyone. When's the next meeting time, and who's teaching?"

Potter said, more to say something than to win, "Seven o clock Monday Night, and Hermione's bound to have something interesting by then."

Draco Malfoy spoke up, in his soft drawl, "Eight, Monday night" His eyes gleamed a mocking challenge, as he looked towards Granger, "Can you teach the Patronus, witch?"

"Anytime," Hermione growled, seeming to have heard bitch instead of witch. They dispersed, leaving Harry wondering just what Draco Malfoy was planning. Why had he insisted that he not sign?


	8. Starting Over

Harry Potter had woken in a good mood, for once. No nightmares, and the day was brilliantly blue - that Scottish autumn weather when everything turned crisp and your body itched to stalk, to dance, to hunt.

Harry was down to breakfast quickly, eating as deftly as he could (which while better than Ron, still resulted in crumbs down his robes). Ron and Hermione joined him, with Gin and Neville sitting across. "Anything interesting happen over the weekend?" Neville asked, his knowing eyes flicking up at Potter's face.

Harry simply shrugged, saying "Oh, the usual." And, depressingly, it really was the usual. Conversation turned then to Quiddich, and whether Harry could play (and if not, if Gin could give Malfoy a run for his money - from the bared grin on her face, she seemed reasonably confident of the answer).

Up at the High Table, Snape was eating in his usual morose fashion (not an early bird, Harry had noticed his first year, and that had certainly not improved over the past few years).

The Ravenclaws were discussing something, passing parchment back and forth, heads bent over something.

Zach Smith was trying to command attention, but it didn't seem to be going well. It was almost as if he'd wanted to make a formal pronouncement about something, but the rest of the Hufflepuffs had decided that he was not to be paid attention to. Sort of like a Yellow and Black Percy Weasley.

And, for a change, before Harry had gotten around to staring at the Slytherins, it was time to head down to... Snape's new class. Yes, that sounded better than whatever Snape had decided to call it. Wartime Survival Lessons - well, that was at least pithy. If Harry didn't value his life more than his schooling, he might actually suggest something like that to the infamously prickly Slytherin.

* * *

Harry Potter wasn't the first person in the door for class (he never was that early), but he was earlier than most - even Hermione waited for Ron, so they were late showing up. The Slytherins, always early risers, trickled in at around the same time Potter did. Hesitantly, he stood behind them, listening avidly while trying not to look like he was eavesdropping. From the sidealong looks Flint kept shooting him, Potter was doing a miserable job.

Still, granting the idea that they knew they were being observed, it was pleasant - in a strange sort of fashion - to be ignored. To listen to people squabbling, thinking, petty powerplays and reinforcements, without feeling a compulsion to intervene. Harry Potter thought about that a bit - why, and when had it become his problem if the Gryffindors were fighting?

With a sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets. He just plain didn't like it when people were upset at each other, and so he had a strong tendency to slam skulls until people remembered that they could smile at each other. Blinking, he remembered how Snape had been behaving at Grimmauld Place. With a strong shake of his head, he discarded that as a potential method. No way he was going to get everyone upset at him just to make them make peace with each other. No, that wouldn't fit at all. It'd just leave him miserable. Unlike Snape, Harry actually cared about having friends (and Harry found his mind wandering, again, to how Snape could have managed to have a friend in Gryffindor, particularly as it seemed that the bastard didn't particularly like friends in the first place).

Hermione and Ron showed up, muscling (as much as was needed, the Slytherins parted like water) over to him. "Hey, Harry!" Ron cried, tossing an arm over Harry's shoulder. With this much boisterous noise, the Slytherins (already divided) drifted off, and Harry felt a pang of sadness, as he shifted into... friendly mode. "Whatcha studying, Hermione?" he asked, leaning over her short shoulder to see. _Dark and Bright in the Animal Kingdom_ the title read, and he saw that she was looking at werewolves, of all things.

"I just don't know what he's going to want us to know..." Hermione muttered.

"Well, you could just ask him what textbooks to read," Harry Potter said with a jaunty glimmer in his eye.

Hermione's bright gaze flicked up at him, "I'll do that. Thanks Harry." Before burying her nose back in her reading.

The class was nearly all assembled. Snape wasn't there yet, but that was normal. Harry's gaze swept the attending, finding the other Gryffindor girls looking inattentive, but the Hufflepuffs, in general, looking wary and cautious. There's a lesson there, Harry thought, but why is it from them? What have they seen about Snape that the rest of us haven't?*

Snape strode into the room with a bang, entering from the back (although there was clearly a door near the dais upfront - had that been there last time?), and the students melted away as he strode forward. Harry, alongside Hermione, fought through the slushy students towards the front of the class. Snape hopped lightly onto the foot-high dais, and stared at the class. Harry Potter could feel his hairs stiffening on the back of his neck - Snape looked far from amused.

"It would appear that we have a band of miscreants, rapscallions, and scofflaws of all sorts present in Hogwarts." Snape began lowly, his soft, melodious voice ringing out in the sudden silence. Harry idly found himself amused at Snape's vocabulary - and how the bastard seemed to think that most of the students would know the difference between miscreants and scofflaws. "They appear to have decided that this is not a school, where students will be taught, but instead, an anarchic School of Hard Knocks."

Snape spun on the platform, his eyes piercing someone else's skull as his robes continued swishing in the direction of the spin. "Such an attitude is anathema to proper discipline, and its adherents will be dealt with most harshly."

Snape clapped his hands once, and in stepped - what looked strangely like ... _shite, Snape was doing THAT?!_

Snape continued, "These are trustworthy students, whom I have imbued with the authority to give aid in finding these hoodlums. Should you hear even a scrap of a rumor... I expect to be notified." A dozen Ravenclaws stood there, looking owlish in their robes - and there was Draco Malfoy, smirking like the day he was born.

Potter felt, more than saw, Ron and Hermione stiffen on both sides of him. He grabbed both of their arms and hissed quietly, "Wait." His eyes darted around the room, more than ever aware that Malfoy'd made more enemies than was strictly good for the soul. Or the boy's body, which Harry figured Malfoy'd care more about, with that pretty porcelain skin of his.* Luckily, most of the Gryffindors - by far the most hot-headed - seemed to be looking at him. Harry Potter, who had named Malfoy his sworn enemy at the ickle age of eleven.

Silence had fallen on the entire room, as Snape smirked. Harry Potter spoke up, shaking his head in bafflement, "Why would someone want to - now that _you're_ teaching? Umbridge, it could be said, didn't know how to teach, let alone what to teach... But _you_?"

"Potter, why don't you tell me? You're the mastermind of most rulebreaking, as I recall. Perhaps you might have some insight..." Snape said, his eyes gleaming, and Harry couldn't tell if that was anger or amusement. Possibly both.

"I haven't the foggiest." Harry Potter said, in a genuine state of confusion, that made the Slytherins (grouped towards the back of the class) giggle. Actually, it was well more than that which was confusing Harry. What/Why had Snape let him and hermione eavesdrop? Was he trying to give them a warning? Was it just to assign them detention? And speaking of detention...

"That will be two detentions for you, Mister Potter." Snape said sternly, "I expect to be addressed as sir, or as Professor Snape."

"That ends the announcements for the day. On to the lesson," Snape said, spinning and looking at another student with those piercing black eyes of his. "Everyone form up by house. I expect you to order yourselves from most talented to least, according to how well you'll do in a simple one-on-one fight." Snape turned to his... claws, and said, sternly, "Join your house."

Harry Potter was quickly at the head of his house, as was Draco Malfoy - leaving Harry plenty of time to drill his green eyes into Draco's silver, eyes burning with mute accusation, demanding answers that were certainly not going to be forthcoming until after class. Surely it would have been simpler just to give up the whole 'secret club' when Snape was forming his Inquisition, rather than wait... What in the world was Draco's _game_? For that matter, what was _Snape's_?

With hands curled into fists, Harry continued to glare daggers at Draco Malfoy's positively infuriating smirk - but, truthfully, after about a minute of that, he had to stop and consider just what he was doing. Besides, it was getting boring. And he wasn't really - mostly - Harry thought he was more pissed at Snape than Malfoy, who was just - what was he doing? Taking advantage of the situation?

Still, Malfoy had on his trademark smirk - and, for once, Harry had the good sense to start picking at that point. Because that was about the last thing Harry'd expected Malfoy to be wearing. Arrogance, if he was on about the class, or a sly subtle smugness. This? This was too damn overt, was what it was. Which meant that Malfoy was hiding... which meant that Malfoy had something to hide. From someone, not necessarily Harry.

Harry felt like hitting his head into a wall, or something. Trying to think like a Slytherin was frustrating, and he wasn't terribly good at it besides. Trying to keep up the facade, himself, that he was still in a powerless rage - still not stupid enough to explode during _Snape_'s class. He let his ears wander, and used his eyes' peripheral vision. The Slytherins were scheming - well, most of them. Millicent was gently hugging Tracey, even as she pulled her farther away from Malfoy. Surprisingly, it wasn't Nott or Zambini who were directly behind Malfoy - it was Greengrass, followed by Parkinson. They stood as if murdering or maiming their fellow students was the last thing on their mind.

The Ravenclaws, perhaps predictably, were arguing about who went up front. And the Hufflepuffs were being too nice - which meant that Zach Smith was first, even though he really wasn't nearly the dueler as Bones. The issue was the rest of the Hufflepuffs, of course, busy arguing about who was "really better than me" (yes, those exact words).

After five minutes, Snape strode through the classroom, sending a coin spinning sideways like a throwing star at the Hufflepuffs. "Just flip a coin," he snapped irritably.

"Make a decision, Ravenclaws, or you're all going to fail." Snape said cuttingly, "In battle, someone needs to lead. In a classroom, that's my assignment." Harry choked back a snort, firming up his glare at Malfoy - less so that Malfoy would be cowed, or even thinking that Harry was upset, and more to bolster other people's opinions of Harry. Because Harry couldn't just be waiting in class, not when Snape had just dropped Another Inquisition on them.

"We will start with the concept that there are no rules, here, except for non-interference from the rest of you." Snape said coldly, and chanted three spells in quick succession. "The spells I have placed here will hopefully prevent excessive damage from spilling out onto the rest of the class. You should all be prepared to shield, just in case." The Ravenclaws, in particular, murmurred at that, sounding more uneasy than Harry would have been, in their shoes.

Keeping that glare trained on Malfoy, who was just as emphatically smirking back at him, Harry noticed which Ravenclaws had made Snape's Inquisition. More than half of them were the ones Snape had been trying to drive out of his class last week. That meant something, Harry was pretty sure. Not that Harry'd figured out what, exactly.

"Malfoy, Potter, you're up." Snape had that smug look on his face, and Harry Potter wasn't sure if he was being smug because Draco was going to beat Harry, or vice versa. Knowing Snape, he could be smug about something else entirely (the whole Inquisition thing, say... which was a dirty nasty _trick_).

Harry Potter stepped inside the gold limned ring, timing it for exactly the instant that Malfoy did the same from the opposite side. Harry found himself, almost surprisingly, perfectly calm. So, he did exactly what he'd been planning. Three quick spells - two stunners, and a Aquamenti, the last landing on Malfoy's head. With a fwoosh, washing all Malfoy's perfect hairstyle away.

Malfoy had a nasty smile on his face, and he yelled out, "Serpensortia,"

_Oooh, that was a mistake_, Harry thought. _Did he think that I was mad at him? Still angry?_**

Harry Potter wore a manic grin that tiptoed to the edge of madness. "Gemino, Gemino, Gemino," Harry cast, reminding himself to use his wand. Now there was not just one viper heading towards his feet, but eight. Harry folded down, landing on his knees, and hissed, "Greetings, young ones. Attack the other boy within the circle."

The snakes hissed back, "Yes, speaker," as Harry unfolded, pulling himself to his feet in a display of sheer strength. _I'm not twelve anymore. I'm not the chosen one, either._

As the snakes squirmed towards Malfoy - their scales twisting one over the next, Malfoy sent Potter an unreadable look, conjuring a shield.

Harry rebalanced, planting his feet as he began to think. It was a shame the stunners hadn't bounced - that would have been an easy kill. Malfoy cast a spell that summoned a hawk, and then released his shield.

As the hawk gained altitude, Harry spat a whip-like spell at Malfoy, who rolled to dodge, his robes flapping like some sort of ungainly bird. Harry Potter sent out a tantallegra curse, sending Malfoy dancing.

Malfoy responded by levitating Harry upwards. Harry, rather than respond, concentrated on transfiguring the floor into rubber. He glared at Malfoy's smirk, and sent a gust of wind, replete with shattered glass, towards Malfoy, who dropped Potter to shield his own pretty face, the shield shattering seconds after the wind died.

Left to his own devices, Potter, quite prepared for this, bounced off the floor, rising and throwing a Balloon Curse at Malfoy (guaranteed to send the participant floating in the air, bloated like a balloon). Of course, that wasn't the point - the Balloon curse happened to have a striking similarity in color to the Avada, and so it made a decent simulation. Malfoy shielded, and the curse bounced - Harry held his breath, heart pounding.

"Win to Potter." Snape said, "We would like to congratulate you on not _actually_ employing Unforgivables in an academic setting. Chang, Bones, you're next." As the two girls shook themselves out of their 'watching a battle' stupor, Snape continued, "As the Avada Kedavra is the only Unforgivable useful in a combat situation, you may simulate it by using the Balloon Curse - or any other spell of a similar color."

Harry Potter faced off against Chang, who had won her round against Bones with a truly interesting bonebreaking curse. Bones was headed to the hospital wing (Potter's still angry face had quirked at the sight of a series of wheels, designed to send her there without assistance. Apparently there was a reason they were taking class on the seventh... floor. Hm. Intentional or not?).

Snape had made marks on the board (that had appeared at a wave of his hand, already pre-labeled with Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Yes, those were the houses in alphabetical order, but it was also the arrangement in the Great Hall), indicating who had won. Potter had four points, Malfoy three, Chang two, and Bones one.

Hermione was up next, and Harry leaned forward, both excited to watch his friend fight, and a bit alarmed - what if her spells didn't work? If you so much as missed one spell in a fight, you were liable to wind up screaming... At least Hermione was up against Abbot - she'd fight fair, wouldn't she? From inside the golden circle, the fight started - quicker and more earnest than Harry's had been - not in the least playing. Then again, Hermione could probably not afford to play right now. Magic was intent, was will - and of all the people he knew, Hermione had the will of a hammer. So plunging forward just was the sensible thing to do. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noted that Draco Malfoy was watching - if anything, looking even more intense. Probably trying to figure out how she's casting.

Hermione fell to a knee, Abbot sending a cutting curse flying at Hermione, who shouted "Protego!" - and nothing happened.

The shield simply wasn't there - leaving Hermione to take the cutting curse on an upflung arm. Instead of shrieking, her hand moved in an intricate motion. "Lumos," she whispered, and Harry was glad he was so close or he'd have missed it. Bright light poured out, searing through his suddenly shut eyelids. Around him, Harry heard screams, shrieks, people stumbling around in terror. Even Malfoy was cursing, low. Snape, who had been watching like a hawk, cursed a spell. His sight was Nearly Normal again, Harry found, as he found Hermione (wearing sunglasses, of course), sitting on Abbot, Hermione's wand to Abbot's throat. "Yield." she said sternly.

"I yield." Hannah said, eyes wide and more than a little scared.

"In the future, Miss Granger, try to contain your attacks towards your opponent, and not the audience. However do you expect anyone to learn if you blind them, permanently?" Snape said snidely.

Hermione Granger paled, and stepped back as the battles continued. Nothing would quite top that battle, not even Hermione facing off against Edgecombe. Harry kept a close watch on the battles - and apparently Hermione was too, as her stockings had changed to green and silver, without her even noticing a thing. _Malfoy_, Potter thought, and automaticaly glanced over at the silver-eyed youth, who smirked back. _Does paying attention to him make things worse? Maybe he'd be that much worse if I wasn't paying attention..._

The Gryffindors had started out in the lead, pulling in more than double what Slytherin had in the first four rounds, and the others pulling even less than that.

The last six rounds were won solidly by the Slytherins. While not nearly as competent as Malfoy, or Potter, or even Ron, they were solid, and put down the likes of Parvati and Brown quickly. Even Justin went down with a hard crash.

As the last round ended, Snape looked at the board. Slytherins on top - not for having the best duelists, Harry thought, but for not having any supremely horrible ones.

"Can anyone tell me why Slytherin won?" Snape asked in that crystal cold voice, glinting with malice.

"No, how about my Slytherins?" Snape said, the icicle sharpness nearing the surface.

"That will be one detention for each of you then, for knowingly depriving the rest of the class of your brilliance." Snape said snidely.

"The rest of the class' assignment is to analyze the Slytherins, their order from top to bottom, and explain why they won... and lost." Snape gave a mocking bow, clapped his hands together, and said smartly, "Class dismissed."

_Later_, Harry growled, safe in the safety of his own mind, _I'll deal with you later._

Harry Potter stormed out of class, wanting to do three things simultaneously. Sadly, none of them were even possible, because he had Transfiguration. McGonagall, while generally easy going in a stern fashion, was not any more lenient with her Gryffindors, and she hated people skipping class. That was probably why she had class every single day of the week - "Transfiguration is a process" and all that.

Harry wanted answers, and not the spell-casting variety. He wanted to pin that blond ferret against the wall, and wring the information out of his bloody neck if he had to.

Worse, he wanted to do the same thing to Snape - and even the thought of throwing _Snape_ against a wall made his stomach feel like someone had removed it from his gut. He wanted to do it anyway, fear notwithstanding.

But no, he had to go to class. It wasn't even class with the Slytherins, though at this point his uncertain temper was going to get him in trouble regardless, so maybe he should be happier that he's got Transfiguration with Hufflepuffs. At this rate, even they'd piss him off enough for him to be blatantly hexing people in class.

"Harry-" Hermione said, scrambling to keep up with his longer legs.

"Mate, what's wrong?" Weasley said, " 'sNot like you to turn down hexin' Malfoy for being a royal twat."

"Seriously, Harry... what, exactly, is going on?" Hermione asked, her small form planting itself directly in front of him, in a neat move of acceleration followed by dramatic deceleration.

Harry twirled her into Ron's arms, simply to avoid crashing into her and sending them both sprawling - and then had to catch himself, as the reddening look on Ron's face was Absolutely Priceless, and he _really_ ought not to be laughing.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, as Harry bolted into a 'not quite run', letting the distraction serve as his response to her question. "This conversation isn't-"

And the stairs moved, and Harry didn't hear the rest of what she had to say. Just as well, it was predictable.

Harry slid into class, squirming into his chair - entrely unsurprised when four minutes later Hermione and Ron took the seats beside him. They opened their mouths and Harry - instead of speaking, interrupted by squeezing their hands. Looking down at the table (to hide his conversation from McGonagall primarily), "I don't know what's going on, alright?" Harry looked at both his friends, solid determination set in his green eyes. "But I intend to find out."

Ron opened his mouth, and Harry said, "Before you ask - I can't figure out what's going on, if it's already blasted to smithereens. That's why."

In the front of the classroom, Minerva McGonagall had the strangest impression that she'd missed more than two thirds of that conversation - and that, despite missing so much, it was a harbinger of ill times indeed.

The entire Great Hall was in an uproar over lunch, with Malfoy and the twats parading around, looking down their noses at everyone.

Which, Harry supposed, was nearly normal, by now. Malfoy'd been doing it last year too.

That didn't halt Harry's train of thought, of course. How - were- What was going on? Were Malfoy and Snape in cahoots? If so, what the blasted hell was their game? What exactly were they playing at?

Harry refused to think that Malfoy was just trying to get three quarters of the upperclassmen in trouble. Even for a guy who liked to dream big, that was getting a trifle ridiculous (more on the lines of Fred and George, whose maycap mayhem was impish instead of the deviltry that Malfoy liked to wreck).

Malfoy, of course, was looking pompous and grandiose. Snape was merely looking smug, as he ate a light salad for lunch. Snape's Ravenclaws were looking stuffy and officious, as if they'd just been promoted to The Latest Coming of Percy Weasley.

The Gryffindors were looking mutinous, though their grumbles really weren't to the point of anyone actually harrassing Malfoy, let alone throwing a punch. Still, Harry thought, it was with a bit of relief that he saw Malfoy exit the Great Hall. Malfoy was the type of irritation that couldn't stop being irritating. LIke a burr, under a horse's saddle or stuck in your fingertips, it was all ridiculous.

* * *

Classtime was boring, as usual. Harry knew he wasn't naturally studious (though he seemed better at picking things up by blind luck than Ron, who seemed perpetually on the edge of failing most subjects), but this was a bit different. His mind swirled with different thoughts, going over patterns and questioning ... well, everything. Any way you wanted to cut it, he was in the middle of a Slytherin scheme. Worse, he wasn't quite sure whether he was ensnared in it or not. And... even if he was caught, was that a good thing? Harry'd spent all of last year trying to do something, after all - here, at least, he was in the middle of something. Productive? Unproductive? At least he was moving. Probably not in circles, either.

* * *

It was late in the day, and Harry'd had to use the Marauder's Map to even figure out where Malfoy was. He was up on the seventh floor - somewhere near the room of requirement. Maybe he was trying to figure out how it worked? At any rate, it was certainly a more convenient place for Harry's upcoming interrogation than the library. Or a random broomcloset. That might prove awkward if they were seen... Harry'd had enough of first years going all goggle-eyed at him - when he was a first year himself!

Slipping on his invisibility cloak, Harry considered what to do as he walked. Finally, he nodded to himself. It was a solid plan. Up by the room of requirement, he paced three times, asking wordlessly for what he wanted. He then opened the door into a moonlessly dark expanse, stepping to the side effortlessly and nearly silently.

Malfoy, who had also been walking around, stopped and looked at the newly found open door. He peered in, cautious to a fault, and Harry held his breath. Finally, Malfoy mustered the courage to step inside. Two steps into the inky blackness, and Harry tipped his fingers out, grabbing the door and shutting it. He knew without thinking that the door had locked behind him.

Harry blinked, for a moment, confused as to why Malfoy wasn't saying a word - then abruptly realized that Malfoy was looking for his wand, and didn't want to draw trouble before he had it ready.

Harry tried for a deep voice, "Welcome to the Chamber of Horrors." as he flicked on a light switch.

Draco Malfoy appeared, looking hunched and hunted, whirling nearly instantly as Potter started to speak (mostly spoiling the effect of the room, to boot). And there was a look on Malfoy's face that Potter hadn't expected to see - it was pure relief. Momentarily, Potter tried to make himself not feel guilty for what was coming next.

"Well, Mister Malfoy, what the hell are you on about this year?" Harry Potter spat, his wand in his hand - although, truth be told, he was thrumming with enough energy - and anger - that he could have cast without it.

"What do you want to know?" Draco Malfoy said, in his casual drawl, trying (and nearly succeeding) at mastering his expression.

"First, how the hell did you know that Snape was going to start an Inquisitional Squad? Again?" Harry's hand was trembling with irritation. He _hated_ being behind on everything, and it felt like Snape and Malfoy were dancing circles around him.

Draco Malfoy stretched his arms over his head, going for a languid pose that somehow bespoke much more confidence than him ever going for his wand would have. "By the strength of extended association, of course." Draco's arms landed down again, as he finished stretching, and he languidly leaned against the door. Harry was slightly put out that Malfoy hadn't even tried to leave -_ I thought I was a bit more initimidating than that, surely?_

Harry Potter slotted Draco's statement into what he'd been thinking about. "It just makes sense, doesn't it, Potter?" Malfoy said arrogant as piss, "He's not the type to abide a slight to his authority." Harry nodded slowly, realizing - about five hours too late - that Snape hadn't said a damn thing to Malfoy. Malfoy was just behaving on his own... and Snape had managed to predict the boy's behavior to a T.

"So why didn't you tell anyone?" Potter asked simply, his mind trying to think through exactly how Snape had known that Malfoy would possibly be that tempted by the secret club...

"Who was I supposed to tell, anyway?" Draco Malfoy said snottily, "What - slip a note to a Hufflepuff?" Draco pushed off the wall with his foot, walking over to a bloodied cat of nine tails (glittering with embedded glass), "Like that's not suspicious." Draco's steely eyes met Potter's, and he said, "Good on you for holding Weasel back. I thought I was going to have to deal with twenty stone of Weasel on my throat."

Potter shifted uncomfortably, feeling like he was being a bad friend by even being within spitting distance of Malfoy's praise. "Anytime," Potter said coldly, "Now why the hell wouldn't you sign the damn contract?"

"Because it'll make no difference." Malfoy said, idly starting to crack the whip against a rusty iron maiden. Harry was starting to regret giving Malfoy... toys.

"What's the real reason?" Harry Potter asked, eyes glimmering.

Draco Malfoy again turned towards Potter, and looked him up and down - perhaps reading the enlightened disbelief, or the fitfully suppressed rage. "Someone has to be able to break the contract." Draco said, dropping the whip and lacing his hands behind his head, "Might as well be me."

"What?" Potter asked, feeling like he had slipped a gear somewhere, and that they'd shifted into an entirely different conversation.

"Snape's not as stupid as Umbridge. He's not going to let this secret club go on, you realize? He's got a nose like a bloodhound for trouble." Draco Malfoy said, stepping forward with his last sentence, "You know that."

"So?" Harry Potter said, stepping a hard pace forward, "I've never been afraid of breaking a few rules."

"Neither am I," Draco Malfoy said, giving him a wintry smile, "When it serves my purposes. I'm afraid I won't be able to make _all_ the meetings - you'll convey my regrets, won't you, Potter?" Malfoy finished off this blastedly arrogant statement with such an avuncular, unctuous smile that Harry immediately wanted to hex it off his face.

"Ask someone who cares, _Malfoy_," Harry said, clicking the light switch off in a move calculated to leave Malfoy scrambling in the dark for his wand. Harry took only a few seconds to gloat, before he opened the door, and left without another word.

Pacing down the corridors, down the stairs, Harry came to a surprising conclusion - if Malfoy and Snape were busy plotting, they weren't plotting together. Which just meant he had two twisty snares to dance around.

Still, this meant that Harry was actually a step ahead of Malfoy - after all, Harry knew that Snape was only pretending to chase them with the Squad... That was a strange feeling, like an effervescent elixir in his veins. It felt a little like power. Before Harry headed up to his Common Room, he scheduled a detention for the next day with Snape, glad beyond words that Hermione hadn't done the same.

Skidding back to _Gryffindor_ Tower, Harry Potter was still riding the high of knowing more than _Draco Malfoy_ did. Oh, for sure, not that the git was all knowing, but he liked to pretend he was - and Harry'd fallen for it, to the sinker really, in second year.

So, it was more than just I know more than you do. It felt a lot like triumph, actually. Harry spoke the password to the Fat Lady, and the Gryffindor Common Room sprawled out in front of him. He was in before he _realized_ -

Realized what looks people were giving him. He stopped dead, blinking behind his glasses. Those were glares, hostile and prickly. People didn't seem to want to say anything to him, not really - just as soon as he caught someone looking, they'd go back to whispering. And it was all whispers, all of a sudden. As if they'd just been waiting on him coming in to gossip.

"Harry!" Hermione said in a sternly loud voice, "Where've you _been_?" Did Hermione always ask questions like that? Harry thought, wondering suddenly if this was a neatly unplanned punishment for ignoring his friends earlier. If so, he undoubtedly deserved it.

"Yeah, Mate, we thought you might've been kidnapped." Ron Weasley responded, looking a lot more languid about Harry's 'suspicious disappearance' than Hermione ever would. Maybe that was just because Ron figured Harry could outfight most anyone he knew.

"Nah," Harry said, plonking himself down between them. "Bit 'o the other way around." He said softly, in a _your ears only_ tone.

"_What_?" Ron yelped, and Hermione started to make shushing motions.

"Fill you in later. Where there's fewer..." Harry gestured around him.

Hermione put her hands on her hips, saying sternly, "Don't you trust Gryffindors anymore?"

"As much as I ever trusted Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, his grin turning acidic.

"Later, in the library." Ron said quickly. Harry made to relax with his friends, Hermione with her book and Ron idly twirling a knight as he stared at the chess piece. After a full day spent scrambling to pick up the pieces of what he'd thought he understood - at least a little - and discovering himself still so far from the ring that he couldn't even jump for it? Best time to just relax into some brain-numbing discussion of Quiddich tactics that he'd had memorized since second year. He was pretty good at learning things, if he cared enough, after all. Sadly, it was not to be.

Lavender sashayed over, in that 'she thinks this is hypnotic' swaying of her hips strut. "Where _Have_ you _been_, Harry?" Lavender asked, her tone more pointed and uncaring than the others. "Have you been... consorting with snakes?" The mocking smile on her face told Harry a lot about her, suddenly. And it raised questions that he'd rather not find the answers to, thanks kindly.

"N...ope," Harry said to her, leaning back against the couch to take comfort from his friends. "My hair always looks like this, honestly." Behind him, he could hear Gin Weasley giggling at the bald truthfulness of the statement.

Lavender sashayed closer, pointing her finger into his chest, "Then _why_ is it that I _heard_ that you asked for Malfoy to join Dumbledore's Army?"

"Oh, that's an easy one," Harry Potter said lightly, "You're hard of hearing, that's all. Haven't I seen you drooling over Ron's Quiddich pictures, despite the fact that he hasn't looked at you once, in five long years of Hogwarts?" Shit, what was he saying? Striking up a catfight with Lavender Brown wasn't a good idea... and bringing up her crush on Ron was a low blow, even for a catfight.

Oh, yes, and of course, Harry's words had just neatly proved Harry wrong, as Ron Weasley was now - five years late - ogling the brunette with her hands on her hips. Which just made Hermione go stiff with suppressed fury.

Shite, Harry thought, I've really screwed the pooch today, haven't i?

"You and Malfoy seem awfully close, don't you?" Lavender Brown said, "Two little pricks who can't tell how to treat a lady."

Harry shifted, pretending indignation, "Hey! Just because I grew up in a barn, doesn't mean I don't know how to treat a lady right." Harry turned a quick smile on Lavender, "Suppose I'll just need to find a proper lady first, right?"

Lavender's face transformed from growing anger into sudden realization, a transfiguration that made Harry's heart sink in dread. "You're in love with Pugface! You are!" Lavender clapped her hands, and Harry balled his fists. He was not going to respond. He was not going to say a word. Talking, when a girl looked like that - so far in love with her idea that nothing could change it.

And then Harry caught the best idea he'd had all day. He stood up, quietly, and walked towards Lavender Brown, his killing-curse green eyes intent on only her - as if the whole gossiping room had been sent to Gehenna, leaving only the two of them standing. "Don't say a word." He whispered to Lavender, before climbing the stairs to his dorm.

Below, he could hear Lavender laughing along with Parvati - _probably gossiping about me,_ Harry thought.

It took his friends a while to stalk up to corner him in his dorm. Harry thought this was probably a combination of Ron's essential laziness and Hermione's nearly inhuman curiosity, and not merely a reaction to seeing Harry's temper. At least, he hoped they weren't hiding downstairs, "letting him cool off." He did _not_ want to be in the _least_ like his Uncle Vernon, and even Aunt Petunia had stepped lightly when he was in a temper.

Ron came upstairs, sitting on his own bed (Harry was in his own, having picked up a book at the sound of Ron - he'd actually been working on spelling without wand or word), and saying, "Well, mate... if you're going to study, why not do it in the Library?" Ron smiled that goofy grin of his, and Harry mentally nodded - that wasn't the look of someone at all afraid of him.

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Anymore studying in bed and I'll just nod off to sleep." Harry said with a smile, gathering a few books, "Charms tommorrow, I suppose." Ron nodded, and before Harry had the time to think of it, they were out and down at the library itself.

They ambled in, trying to do their best to not look like they had secret information. They had a lot of practice at this guise, after all. Ever since first year, they had nearly always known something that everyone else didn't. So they continued through the library, trying to ignore the studied distraction of the Ravenclaws - who were so defiantly NotLooking at the Gryffindors that it screamed _totally eavesdropping_.

Harry Potter sat at a back table with a sigh, enjoying being out of sight of most of the other students, even if that made it potentially easier for them to eavesdrop. He hadn't seen a Slytherin in the library, so he assumed they were having some sort of meeting.

"So, what's going on?" Hermione asked, her chocolate eyes bubbling with curiosity. No wonder she was so good at potions.

"Well, I'm still not really sure..." Harry began, knitting his hands in his lap.

"Why'd you stop me from smashing a good one in that git's smug, smarmy face?" Ron asked, his voice brimming with anger.

"It wouldn't have done you any good, you know," Harry said with a sigh, "Snape was watching, and we'd all have lost points."

Ron grinned, "Sure, but I'd have felt better."

"That's not the point, Ron -" Harry said, feeling obscurely like Hermione, "The question is why he hasn't turned us in already..."

Hermione bounced in her seat - "That's actually a good point! We know Snape and Malfoy are thicker than thieves, so why hasn't he gotten you in trouble yet?"

Harry sighed, "Well, for one thing, Malfoy wasn't asked by me to join, you know... and Smith has been running the day-to-day..." Harry started, before looking at the truly worshipful faces his friends were turning towards him.

"Yeah but you -" Hermione said, as Ron said simultaneously, "He can't _really_ think..."

Harry shrugged, saying, "Honestly, I'm not sure I care. He's keeping the study group a secret."

"How can you not care?" Hermione nearly hissed, her "it's a library" manners keeping the sound from being a shriek. "he could turn us in at literally any time!"

"Well, yeah, he could, but then he'd have to answer how he found out..." Harry Potter said with a cruel smile. "And there's plenty of people who'll tell Snape that Draco was at the original meeting."

"But- but- they can't tell! That's in the contract!" Hermione said, just a bit aghast at the thought of someone breaking their word.

"Only if they signed," Harry said with a bit of a smile, "And we make sure that the littlest didn't get a chance, now didn't we?"

"Damn straight," Ron said, unaware of how much he sounded like a gunslinger, "They'd just get themselves hurt."

"I don't trust Malfoy farther than I can throw him," Harry said.

Hermione interrupted, "Which isn't that far, he's still bigger than you." Ron snorted a laugh, and Harry colored red.

"Whatever's really going on," Harry said softly, "I don't understand it yet. And I don't want to touch it until I figure it out."

"Because you don't want to break it?" Hermione asked, just as softly.

"Because, when I break it, I want to break it right." Harry Potter said, finding Malfoy's words walking straight out of his own mouth. Still, they were true enough, in this time and place. He was still bewildered about what exactly was going on.

Tomorrow. Answers.

*No, Snape has not been rescuing Hufflepuffs in his spare time.

**Harry's completely misreading Malfoy.

[a/n: Reviews get you more folios. Otherwise, I need to finish writing the story!]


	9. Teaching Happy

Ron Weasley was acting weird, Harry thought, looking at him staring off and smiling a goofy smile. That... really wasn't normal. Harry'd almost wonder if it was magic, but he'd been with Ron since last night (and even Ron warded his bed a little). Harry wanted to know what was going on, but he didn't exactly want to ask. He wanted, really wanted, Ron to snap out of it and tell him.

Naturally, Ron was his usual uncooperative self, to the point that Hermione was staring at him pointedly on their way to breakfast, and Ron didn't even notice. Normally, that'd cause a nice shoving match, or something else equally amusing. Not this time, though. Just that slightly-slackjawed grin.

Harry'd been so focused on Ron that he'd nearly forgotten Lavender and the rest of the Gryffs. They were looking at him oddly, as he sat down - and then he saw why. Over at the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson - Miss Pug herself - was so entirely busy "Not Staring" at Harry Potter. Well, if one could only say one nice thing about Lavender Brown, it would certainly be that she could pass information like a champion.

Unfortunately, this time, Harry was right in the thick of things. Gryffs were giving him scaly eyes - watchful to see what he'd do with Pansy (as if he'd ever do something like that in the great hall!).The Ravenclaws were mostly oblivious (Luna was waving at him, but she always did that, and with the sunflower in her hand it probably wasn't all that out of the ordinary.), but the Hufflepuffs were pingponging their eyes back and forth, trying to figure out what would happen next.

Harry ate quickly, quicker than ron, which was saying something, and then was out the door, heading off to his class. Etched on a corner of his brain that he wanted to burn, was the expression on Pansy's face as he fled like a coward. It was disgust. Disgust and resentment. Was she upset that he hadn't told her about the nonexistent crush? Or just upset that everyone was staring at her - and wondering if she was going to two-time Draco Malfoy, of all people?

Oh, yeah, yesterday morning he hadn't thought of that little filip at all. But in the plain day, right before Divination, it was plain to see. And, oh, crap, Divination. Perhaps... no, this wasn't going to work. There was little possibility that Trelawney had actually heard the rumor that had been started last evening, but Parvati and Lavender had started the rumor, and so thus they had to know about it. And they would embarrass him with their predictions.

Having eaten quickly, Harry'd arrived early. He stared a moment at the room, trying to find the least noticeable spot. No, that was stupid. Harry Potter sat in the center, knowing that this class was going to be bad. He hated when everyone stared at him. Where was Ron, anyway? Probably still eating.

Ron actually arrived after Lavender and Parvati (Harry didn't mind, he was just glad that the two "wonder pupils" didn't sit on either side of him. The last thing he needed was to listen to them in stereo).

"Harry!" Parvati said, "You won't believe what I found in my leaves this morning!"

"Oh?" Harry asked, trying for a semblance of politeness that he really, really didn't feel.

"The leaves say that you and Pansy are a most fortuitous match!" _Yeah, if you mean she gets to murder me in my sleep._

Lavender smiled a bright, mean smile, and said, "_I_ think that Pansy's trying to get your attention."

"Yeah, I've seen the way she looks at you and giggles, like, constantly, " Sue Bones put in from a row behind, and Harry wanted to groan. _What was wrong with people?!_ he thought. Pansy looked at him like that because _Malfoy_ was making snide comments (Harry hadn't actually heard any of them to know if they were funny or not, so he wasn't going to make judgements on the girl's sense of humor).

Still, at least Pansy wasn't in the class. Or Malfoy. Although,

Harry was getting strange glances from Millicent. _Appraising_ glances. As if she was thinking about him in a whole new light...

This could be bad.

* * *

Ron acted weird all day - Harry had to avoid kicking his friend at lunch, out of sheer frustration about what in the world was wrong with him. He'd normally have suspected the twins had him high on something (he was certainly acting high as a kite...), but as they weren't even in the school, and Ron hadn't gotten any mail, AND Ginny wasn't pissed off at Ron today...

It was really rather unlikely. Maybe it was someone else's version of a prank? But, even so, that'd be a prank that'd happened sometime when Ron was in bed. And Dean and Seamus woulda come up with something more... flagrant. Neville certainly didn't seem the pranking type - at least not this type of prank. Harry could actually see Neville spritzing someone with a fragrance that their sweetheart was allergic to. And then manage to look innocent the whole while, laughing his butt off in the backalley, when the sweetheart's throat started to choke, not from nerves but swelling!

Anyway, whatever was up with Ron couldn't be terribly serious, as he hadn't said anything to his best friends. Harry could tell that by lunch the rumor had made its way to the Slytherin table - Pansy was studiously not looking at him, in such a way that she might as well have posted a sign "Not Looking at Potter. Couldn't Possibly Care Less." She was giggling with Tracy Davis and Millicent, and it was quite clear that she didn't have a care in the world. Except for the way she wasn't looking at Harry.

Of course, looking over at the Slytherin table to observe Parkinson was a new experience for Harry... However, in glancing that way, he found one very familiar pair of gray eyes looking back at him. And that look? It spoke _volumes_. Disgust, a strong thread of "Parkinson? Really?", disbelief. And yet, with all the emotions coursing through that look, Harry couldn't tell whether Malfoy actually believed the rumor, or whether he was just pretending to believe.

* * *

The rest of the day's classes passed in a blur, Harry trying to do his best to pay attention, but his nerves were rattled by the thought of his "detention" with Snape. Crap. He hadn't even told his friends about the detention, had he? Maybe he could pass off to Ron that he'd gotten it in the hallway? (Hermione'd know better, of course, but... she probably wouldn't tell). Still, it was bad policy that. No, he'd say he got an extra detention for mouthing off after class, and that Snape had decided to spring it on him. Random and arbitrarily dickish punishments were the man's speed, after all. Nobody could possibly say that was unusual.

One of the seventh year Slytherins, Frieda, saw Harry Potter walking towards Snape's office. Of course, since it was down in the dungeons, she felt free to misconstrue where he was going. Or so Harry supposed, as he'd never been sighted even trying to find the Slytherin Common Room, because she said, "Aww... Is poor little Harry Potter lovesick? Take a right there, and turn down the second corridor, and knock on the wooden cask, and ask for Pansy." She left off her directions with a giggle, and when Harry turned towards Snape's office instead (he had that path memorized from sheer repetition), she catcalled, "Aww, did I embarrass him? Everyone knows, Harry, everyone knows!" Her giggle set his teeth on edge, and he buried that emotion down in his gut.

He stood at Snape's ironbound door, and knocked.

"Enter." Snape said promptly. Harry was only slightly relieved, at least he wouldn't have to stand outside and wait.

Harry Potter couldn't quite quelch the sinking feeling as he strode into Snape's office. It was a small, cramped place - more from the oddities clustered everywhere than from actual lack of space. There was an aborted fetus, eyeballs of all sizes, even what looked to be a cow's head, shorn of it's skin, eyeball half deflated*. All manner of grotesqueries and horrors. Knowing Snape, Harry wouldn't have put it past him to have 'decorated' his office simply to discourage 'idle conversation.' Of course, he was a potions master. Perhaps Hermione would be able to look at the whole place, and tell exactly what Snape was insinuating with his parts collection. _Did that eye just wink at him?_ Harry shook his head, closing the door.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape's voice slid like silk on smooth stone, the expectancy turning it into a soft garotte, ready to strangle him if he didn't get a move on.

"What exactly are you planning?" Harry asked, surprised at his own tone - it was wide-eyed disbelief. Not anger, not exasperation, just a steadied curiosity, backed with a subtle demand.

"Indoor voice, Mister Potter. Unexpected, but welcome." Snape looked smug, but then again, he nearly always looked smug, even - like now - when he was scowling. Still, his eyes said a different story - the lightness in their dark depths hinted at a deeply buried amusement. "As to your question," Snape said, knitting his fingers together, "Rather a lot of things. I'm afraid if you want specifics, you'll have to be specific in turn."

"Why the Inquisition Squad?" Harry asked, glad to hear his voice level and flat.

"How else do you have an illicit club, except by making it so?" Snape said, and continued, "You do know the rules for student clubs - they require a teacher to supervise."

Harry's eyes widened. Snape _wasn't _... putting it on him, for not having ... asked? Shite, he _was_! "But... you could have..."

Snape's response was a mocking smirk. Harry's eyes narrowed, as he continued his runaway train of thought, "And you didn't. You _wanted_ an illicit club - _why_?"

"You may consider that a homework assignment, Mister Potter." Snape said mildly, his voice warm with smugness and tinged slightly cold with reproof, "If you can come up with five reasons by the end of the month, I will tell you mine."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with that. The point of asking questions wasn't generally to be told to 'think harder' and 'find your own solutions,' was it?

"Why doesn't Malfoy know that you're playing both ends against the middle?" Harry Potter said.

Snape smirked, "He doesn't need to know, of course. You'll find there's very little reason to tell people things if you can predict how they'll react without them."

"Provided you like the way they'll respond, given incomplete information." Harry said dryly.

"Quite." Snape said.

"You knew he'd join!" Harry said, shaking his head, "And here I spent hours trying to figure out what to do about the Slytherins."

"Thought experiments are a useful exercise in many subjects." Snape said, leaning back in his chair and raising his arms to knit his hands above his head. "No Slytherin turns down a chance to be included in a secret lightly."

Harry said softly, "Like dangling catnip in front of a cat."

Snape nodded, and then drawled, "If there's nothing else pressing, I believe you have some summer homework assignments to complete."

Harry nodded, said, "Yes, sir," and started to work. It was incredibly difficult to think one thing, and do another, but if Harry concentrated on only spelling half the word, he could say a longer spell than he actually cast. In battle, this wouldn't last two uses - but Harry'd learnt that battles were quick and brutal things, and that any advantage could save your life.

Two hours later, Snape drawled, "Your detention is over, Mister Potter." He paused, his inky eyes appraising Potter, before continuing, "Although I did want to request that you persuade someone to teach that illicit club the Patronus spell in the next week or so..."

Harry thought about that, nodding, "Teach the Patronus - it's one of the few "harmless" battle spells, isn't it? A good one to reinforce cooperation, particularly when someone's going to be paranoid that anything that gets taught will be used against them."

Snape nodded, "Not only that, Potter, but it's also a blazingly strong Light spell. Many will recognize, if only by spell, that people they previously thought were 'probably evil' have at least a pearl of goodness in them."

Harry had to fight back a snort at _Snape_ using that metaphor. "And it'll make the Slytherins feel behind - I've already taught it to the DA." Harry offered, and Snape nodded his understainding, "Which will just make them work the harder." Harry nodded decisively, "I'll see it done."

Harry stumbled out of Snape's office, bone-weary. He made it out of the dungeons without incident, for which he was very glad, as he couldn't have stopped Crabbe from cursing him. He was asleep before he hit his pillow in Gryffindor Tower.

Wednesday dawned with lead gray clouds, and Harry suppressed a sigh. Apparently this wasn't going to be one of those wonderful Scottish autumn mornings. Ron was already awake - dressed, even, and Harry knew he was supposed to be doing... something.

Ah! Breakfast! His stomach demanded it, and so its needs must be satisfied. Harry sprung into action, rinsing hurriedly before shucking on his robes (he was glad that they had uniforms, and that he didn't need to iron them. Mental Note: Thank Dobby later.).

Harry flung himself down the stairs towards the Great Hall, his friends hurrying after him. His arms were outflung, and he laughed with the sheer joy of running, of plummeting as quickly as he could towards the Great Hall.

As he rounded the stairs onto the proper floor, he saw Snape and McGonagall staring at him with identical expressions of surprise. Halting his pell-mell run, he chortled at their expressions, continuing on at a more sedate pace towards the Great Hall. Hermione, he was sure, looked quite apologetic right behind him.

It took him till he was sitting down, munching happily on a bagel, before he started to worry about what Snape and McGonagall had been talking about. That, in of itself, was unusual. They usually fought like cats and dogs - generally about Quiddich, though occasionally about detentions and house points and even teaching styles. Harry mentally winced away from the time he had caught them arguing about that last one - it'd been over Christmas, and you'd _think _that teachers would stop caring about class then...

Harry happened to look up just as Ginny was sitting down, grinning a messy greeting at her. Behind her, he saw Pansy Parkinson pointedly looking at him. _Was she going to try something in the Great Hall? That'd be just lovely._

In his pocket, he started to feel a sudden warmth. Sticking his hand down into it in alarm, he focused his eyes on the plate of tarts in front of him. Feeling around, he felt the warm of that galleon Hermione'd charmed. _Oh, maybe she just wanted to talk about..._ Mentally, he shook his head. That was overly optimistic, even for him.

A glance of his eyes up at the High Table put Snape directly in his vision. _Snape! _Harry thought with a good deal of alarm. _Crap! I've got his class today, and I haven't done the assignment!_

Taking his most hopeful puppy dog expression, Harry Potter turned it on Hermione. "Hermione, could I borrow your homework for Defense?"

Hermione leveled a glare at him, and Harry tried to look more woebegone. "You might be better off if you tried it yourself, first, honestly." Hermione said crossly.

"Hermione-" Harry whined.

"No, I'm serious. I can't tell you if a single one of my theories has any semblance of truth." Hermione said.

As Harry frantically began to copy her homework, he saw what she meant. It had been clear to everyone that the Slytherins had won the crosshouse match by stacking their moderate to good students in the lower ranks. Sure, he'd beat Malfoy, and Parkinson had gone down like a wet balloon. But the others had been at least decent, even if Goyle and Crabbe hadn't won so much by magic as by sheer strength.

"Maybe you should have asked Dra-co," Parvati giggled, and Harry glared at her. _Malfoy_ and I aren't on speaking terms, even in the best of times.

"Or your own true love, Pansy-flower." Lavender said, batting her eyelashes at Harry Potter.

Harry wanted to go storming off, wanted... to punch the girls in the face, though of course he _wouldn't_...

Harry had forgotten that his next class was Snape's. So, when he left the Great Hall (homework only half done), he was nearly first there. Davis was _there_, as were a few Ravenclaws - but that wasn't the point. The point was Davis could _solve_ his homework dilemma! Harry blinked for a moment, before deciding that he might as well try channeling Lockhart. It wasn't like Tracy'd know the difference - she'd never spoken to him before.

"Hey, Davis, could you clue me in on our homework assignment?" Potter asked, smiling a wide and cheery grin.

"I'm. Not. Telling. _Anyone_." Davis grit out between her teeth, giving a glare that Snape would be proud of. "And that goes doubly for you, Harry Potter."

Harry reared back, a little stung and a little hurt. Then he quickly grounded himself, turning away with a dark scowl.

"Oh, look, it's Perfect Potter, perfectly scowling. Something not go your way, pretty boy?" Draco Malfoy drawled. However, the words seemed to bleed from Harry Potter's mind, the instant he saw who Malfoy had walked in with - Pansy Parkinson. Who was _looking at him_. Studying him, really, but Harry didn't have time to keep staring. Instead, he turned his face towards the lectern, thinking furiously: _Shite. Not in Defense. Please, for the love of god, leave me alone_, Harry thought, wishing that he'd learnt telepathy rather than failing at learning how to occlude.

And then a miracle happened - Dean and Seamus were in class early. Harry nearly flung himself over towards them, trying his best to disappear into a Gryffindor Group, that would hopefully be too intimidating for Pansy to brave by her lonesome. Harry slid into and through groups as more people piled in (avoiding the Gryffindor girls, of course, as Parvati would probably fling him at Pansy, just to see the piranha eat him alive).

Ron arrived with Hermione, his face still... dreamy and smiling. What in the world was wrong with him? Harry thought crossly. I've told him everything that's ever been in my head, practically. It's gotta be something important, right? You don't check out of an entire day's worth of classes (including Hagrid's) without it being something... important, _right_?

* * *

"Turn in your homework." Snape said as he arrived in class. There were smirks from the Slytherins, and the rest of the class turned in ... what looked to be disgraceful work. At least, Harry judged that from people's expressions. Ron's, and Dean's, and a few other people who had never cared for Defense's expressions looked decent, but other people (Hermione especially) looked guilty. Susan Bones looked actively ashamed. Harry almost wanted to stop class just to ask Snape why he'd assigned something that clearly no one had been able to answer. His sense of self-preservation (yes, it exists!) kicked in, and held his tongue captive.

Snape paged through the entire stack, and then scowled, "Did no one think to _ask_ a member of Slytherin House?" Behind him, Malfoy smirked. Hermione looked ruddy embarrassed, but there were plenty of Hufflepuffs nodding - and scowling darkly.

Zach spoke up, saying stoutly, "I asked. I asked everyone - except Malfoy, who wouldn't have answered anyway." Malfoy smirked, again, and gave a little bow. And then hopped, as apparently _someone_ had decided a stinging hex to the foot was a good way to manage the stage.

Snape turned his dark gaze to the Slytherins, "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"

Goyle spoke up, his voice turning like gravel under hooves, "Slytherin business is for Slytherins only."

"Then you should have thought about that, before displaying it in front of your entire year." Snape said acidly. "I would have thought that you might have shown some judgement, some shred of intelligent thought, and asked yourself _Why_ I would assign a homework assignment that I didn't expect to be completed?"

The Slytherins shuffled back and forth, and Snape looked at the rest of the class, saying in that silken soft voice, "You might have asked _me_, you know?"

Snape's inky black eyes looked over the entire room, and he said crisply, "As payment for your lack of creativity or intelligent thought - don't ask me which is worse - You'll be targets today. The spell is the stinging hex, and you may begin at my word. No shields, class. Dodging's the game."

Was Snape mad? Harry had to think. Giving them such an assignment, when everyone was likely to already be ticked at the Slytherins? Perhaps he simply, truly believed that students wouldn't dare make trouble with Snape in the room. Harry risked a glance at Snape, and rapidly concluded that getting on his bad side today was not a pleasant prospect.

The defense classroom exploded into stinging hexes, with half the time people zapping friends rather than anyone else. Harry Potter dove for cover, more out of instinct than any real strategy. From there, he stuck his head up to throw a few token hexes - one of them at Pansy, who shrieked and turned towards him as he ducked down again. _I hope she didn't see me..._

Snape was at the front of the classroom, holding the only shield in class. He very clearly had a parchment and was recording notes on it (more like tick marks, Harry realized).

Oww! Harry felt the sting of a hex, and turned to find Susan Bones readying another. He went into a roll, trying to work his magic into a hex without needing to target it with his wand. Instead of doing what he wanted, he felt the static sting explode out of him.

_Shite! Get back here!_ Harry thought, and, wonder of all wonders, when he pulled his magic back into himself, the stinging came back too. Just in time for him to get another hex in the tush.

"Rolling on the floor doesn't work well if you stop out of cover." Malfoy drawled, seeming not to notice the hexes coming at him (Hermione's were glowing a lovely blue, which meant that she wasn't strictly casting the right spell, even.) Maybe he was just numb?

Harry rolled himself to his feet, finding a grace that he'd practiced brutally over the summer, and then threw a hex at Malfoy. He then ducked to avoid a misaimed hex from Hermione, who was drawing close - Ron was paired with her, and they seemed to be making an effective team.

"Halt." Snape's voice cut through the din. "Take your ten worst shots and describe how you'll improve their effectivity." Snape purred.

_Well, there's one homework assignment that I'm not going to be able to complete. Better not lie, either._

"Class dismissed." Snape said. Seconds later, the room erupted in a series of groans, whimpers, and even a few tears. Harry's eyes met Malfoy's - and for a wonder Malfoy wasn't exaggerating his injuries. In fact, he was acting as if he hadn't been the target for half the Gryffindors.

Interesting.

* * *

Harry was out of the classroom, and he thought he'd cleared enough of the scrum to make it to Transfiguration on time, when he saw the Slytherins, who were heading towards Charms... _Shite._

Pansy Parkinson sashayed towards him, and Harry gulped, thinking, _What if she thinks I really do like her? How do I go about letting her down gently?_

"Harry, dear, if we're going to go out, you're going to have to do something about your friends. I really won't be seen with someone who's friends with blood traitors and... mudbloods." Pansy was talking as if they were actually already... Harry's mind boggled, and then bobbled, and then he saw red.

"No, thanks, Pansy dear." He responded firmly, "My friends are more important to me than you are."

"Pity." Pansy said, seeming unaffected as she flicked her hair over her shoulder and swayed back towards the Slytherins. One couldn't say a nice thing about her face, but she sure did have a nice figure.

And, of course, now that Harry was looking towards the Slytherins, he could see Malfoy smirking at him, his silver eyes wide, as if to say, "Well, how about that?" But Harry wasn't about to make the mistake of thinking that he knew what any Slytherin meant with a look.

It wasn't until shortly after lunch that Harry pulled the galleon out of his pocket, checking it in a little used supply closet. _Tommorrow. 7pm_ \- that made it directly after dinner, and gave them about three hours (comfortably speaking) to cover something.

The Patronus was really a brilliant thing to cover, Harry thought, as he walked into his next class. Now, I just have to make sure that's what's on the menu. He wrote a neat message on the back of his coin, and settled in to wait until after dinner. His mind was full of ideas, so many that it spun, but he figured he'd be able to put together something coherent, on the spot.

* * *

Harry strolled out of the castle, enjoying the crisp autumn air on his face. He headed towards the rushes and stones by the Black Lake.

Hannah was standing there, and Harry's breath hitched a second when he saw her. She was looking... was that _makeup?_

_Shite. Shite. Shite. Please tell me that wasn't for me!_

"Hannah," Harry said softly, and she turned towards him.

"Harry!" She said excitedly, "You wanted to meet me out here? Want to take a walk?"

"Sure, I guess," Harry said, shrugging uncomfortably.

"I was thinking about the DA..." Harry started, as Hannah just looked over at him.

"Yes, Harry?" she said, dimpling.

"Could you maybe start tommorrow by teaching the Patronus?" Harry said, "You've always been one of the best at getting other people to find their own."

Hannah smiled, saying, "Oh, Harry, you say the sweetest things." Her smile seemed - warmer? than it had just a few moments ago. "I'm not sure how well I'll be able to do with the Slytherins, though..."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"Well, they always seem so... closed. And cold. Awfully, chillily cold." Hannah continued.

"That hasn't been my experience." Harry said, shuffling his feet.

"Well, of course not, you always hang around Malfoy." Hannah said, laughing.

"Other way round, actually..." Harry said, "Malfoy hangs around me. Kinda like a lost owl..."

Hannah laughed at that, and then turned her blue eyes on him, as she tugged at her neat pigtails, "Was that why you wanted to meet me?"

Harry swallowed, feeling incredibly awkward, "Um, yes?" And he turned hopefully baffled eyes at her.

"Oh, thank god!" Hannah said, as she gathered him into a meaty full-contact hug.

With all her bits pressed against Harry's, Hannah continued, "It's just that Susan said... And then she made me dress up..."

Harry pulled back a bit to watch Hannah's head, still resting on his shoulder and definitely not looking at him. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings!"

Harry snickered, and then chortled, and then he was laughing. "And here, I was worried that you'd gotten the wrong idea, and that I'd have to let you down gently..."

Hannah pulled back herself, and looked Harry in the eyes, "No, not _me!_ That was Susan!"

They laughed together, relaxed again, as they walked back to the castle.

Severus Snape was late to the Staff Meeting. He considered it a mark of extreme disrespect to abstain from punctuality, which says quite a lot about the disdain in which he holds these... meetings. _More likely gossip sessions. _Snape thought, as he entered the room, three minutes late as usual. Far be it for anyone to notice that Snape was late - they were all caught up in listening to Filius talk about his nephew's daughter-in-law, and her child's precocious use of letters at the ripe age of three.

"Ah, there you are, Severus! Now, we can start the meeting." Albus Dumbledore said cheerfully, and Snape quelched the urge to roll his eyes. Dumbledore said the same thing every time, and it was always irritating. Snape would have preferred a lecture - when he'd _started_ showing up late, over a dozen years ago. By this point, his rudeness had become mere habit, and no one ever noticed a habit. Perhaps next staff meeting he should show up five minutes early? Hm, the idea had merit. Perhaps if he offered everyone some ripe Durian, the room might clear out in less than half the usual time. Hm, he thought, I should see if I can stomach the fruit, first.

Snape's eyes grazed the rest of the table as he found his seat - stiff, high-backed, and brutally uncomfortable. But it was in a corner, and so it was just how Snape liked it. Besides, the height of the chair made his malproportioned body look a little more natural. Everyone else sat more comfortably elsewhere, and Snape's eyes lingered just a touch on the other Heads of House.

The meeting began, as they usually did, with a few scattered announcements. Mostly Filch going on about who had stopped the toilets up, and which ones were not to be used under any circumstances.* Then Poppy stood up, and proffered a list of healing potions, which Severus accepted with ill grace. He'd been making the infirmary's potions for ages, of course, but he still resented the waste of his time. If only he dared to take on an apprentice. It was a futile dream - so long as his two masters stood, he couldn't, _wouldn't,_ put someone else between them, for them to scrabble over like dogs worrying a shared bone.

Snape had hardly a word that he wanted to say about the students under his tutelage. He wasn't prone to gossip under the best of circumstances (Slytherins generally weren't), but he honestly found the daily trials and tribulations of your garden variety adolescent to be boring beyond belief. Still, when one kept ones mouth closed and ears open, one tended to figure out problems that would otherwise pass unnoticed.

Snape kept a weather eye on Tonks, because he wasn't teaching any of the younger students. In his experience, the most hapless students tended to show their deficiencies in Defense or Potions (only Malfoy could fail Care of Magical Creatures - Hagrid was a notoriously soft mark, and he delighted in extra credit). He noticed that she was doing a better job spotting the failures than any new teacher he'd encountered, excluding himself of course.

As the meeting droned on, Snape tuned out more and more, content to think about the optimal way to arrange his lab to finish the medicinal potions in the least amount of time.

Filius, of course, chimed in, "There's something strange going on with Miss Granger, I fear." Flitwick nearly twittered his unease, Snape saw with an inwardly turned, toothy grin.

"I just don't know what's wrong with Miss Granger!" Minerva McGonagall chimed in, "She hasn't performed a transfiguration all term!"

Albus Dumbledore smiled, and said, "Perhaps she's been distracted, recently?"

"No, Albus, you don't understand!" Minerva said crossly, her Scottish brogue starting to surface in her aggravated state, "I didn't say that she mangled them, she hasn't done one!"

"She hasn't even started a transfiguration?" Professor Sprout said, leaning forward.

"No!" Minerva nearly shrieked.

"I haven't noticed any problems in my class." Sinestra put in.

"Severus, nothing at all to say? How odd." Minerva bit out, her eyes sharp as lion's claws as they tried to pierce Snape's uncharacteristic lethargy.

"I assure you, I have volumes to say about the knowitall." Snape bit back, his words as sharp as Minerva's eyes. "However, in this rare moment, you have caught me all speechless with surprise."

Severus was gratified to see the other teachers stirring around him. Finally, Hooch said bluntly, "You haven't noticed?"

"Miss Granger is performing nearly adequately in both my subjects, yes." Snape drawled, "I would certainly have mentioned it otherwise."

"Severus Snape!" Minerva said, trying for 'you're my student and you'll do as I say', but instead getting 'I'm an old woman and will tan your britches if you don't tell.' "What do you know about Miss Granger's condition?"

"Minerva, I fail to see why you would even think that I'd have any knowledge of a condition that I have failed to observe in my own classes." Snape drawled. Minerva eyed him skeptically, which was to her credit. "I do think that it is the duty of all teachers to bring magical conditions to the attention of our resident healer, just as much as physical ones - rather than saving them as juicy bits to fill up our admittedly dull staff meeting."

Abruptly, everyone in the room was glaring at him. _Fine_, Snape thought, before continuing, "If I had to hazard a guess, the issue is magical discipline, rather than a sudden magical void. It seems most likely that Miss Granger is merely going through a magical growth spurt, where her magic has outgrown her control, temporarily speaking of course."

"How long would this be likely to last?" Professor Burbage asked, looking quite horrified, "Albus, you can't possibly..."

Albus' eyes twinkled, indicating that yes, he probably _could_ \- _whatever_ Burbage was thinking, which was probably bend the rules until the Gryffindor Golden Child could perform her magic proficiently again.

"I certainly have no adequate basis for this guess, but I'd venture to say by Christmas." Snape drawled, a grimace briefly surfacing at the mention of Christmas. Minerva's eyes were still sharp upon him, and they moved on to... Draco Malfoy, by way of Minerva complaining about his 'relentless' bullying of Granger.

* * *

The news was all over school by Thursday Morning.

Unfortunately, the subject of the gossip hadn't heard about it, yet.

So, Harry Potter was rather perplexed to see the entire school of children staring at him as he walked into the Great Hall. Suppressing the urge to yell WHAT at the top of his lungs, he sat down.

Marlena asked, from down the Gryffindor table, "What I don't get is why a Slytherin, of all people? Gryffindor girls are plenty better than those tramps!"

"Maybe he wants a tramp," another voice said, trying to sound knowledgeable.

Harry simply concentrated on not setting the entire table on fire. After a bit of time, he said, coldly and clearly, "That is despicable. I doubt you've even talked to the Slytherins in your own grade, let alone the ones in mine."

The girl down the table turned hurt brown eyes on him. He blinked, and continued - his anger overcoming his 'let's be nice' side. "As for why not a Gryffindor girl? Have you looked around? The Gryffindor girls are all bombshells - well, except for Hermione, who's just pretty." The whole table was staring at him by this point. "Bit intimidating, don't you think?" he said.

"Harry, you don't have a crush on me, do you?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide - and for once, Harry'd absolutely no clue what she was thinking.

"'Course not, Hermione - if I did, I'd tell you. Otherwise it'd get weird." Harry said, and he watched Hermione subside into her seat. He hoped that'd been the right thing to say - he certainly didn't want to give his best friend a complex or something. Harry was thankful that at least he'd managed to sound normal... _I always was shite at lying._

After breakfast was worse, if you can believe it. Harry hardly could. The glares from the Gryffindor girls were bad enough... but he couldn't get five feet outside the Great Hall before there were four girls sighing over him. Not that Harry hated girls or anything... but these? They were _all over him_ \- and it had been a long time since Harry'd liked the feel of people touching him. Felt confining, really.

Luckily, Ron was right behind him, and capable of looking more clueless than he usually did, with that distant, vacant smile. "Harry, Charms is this way..." He called, and Harry Potter wriggled out from between the girls.

It didn't help. There were more behind the corner.

And, um, having this many girls literally throwing themselves on a bloke wasn't doing much for his self control. Harry fervently hoped they weren't feeling what he was feeling. Because that would be embarrassing. Worse, they might decide that meant he _liked_ them, and not stop this _at once_!

"Potter." Snape's voice slid out from a darkened passageway, and the girls around him scattered, more afraid of Snape than they were interested in mobbing Harry. For perhaps the first time, Harry was glad to see Severus Snape. "That will be one detention for blocking the hallway."

"But! That wasn't even me!" Harry sputtered, "They were climbing on me, not -"

"I saw." Snape said dryly, his eyes sparkling with amusement under eyebrows that said otherwise.

Unfortunately, there weren't always people around to rescue Harry, and he was a good fifteen minutes late to Herbology.

At dinnertime, three hufflepuff girls tried to invite themselves to sit beside him (Ron and Hermione being on the other side), when Gin came round to give them the blow off. They glared at her, and Hermione whispered, "I think they may have knives, better watch your back, Ginny."

Ginny gave a cock-eyed grin, saying, "Let them try." Man, Ginny looked hot when she smiled like that - a redhaired devil in robes. Harry's eyes settled briefly on ... pretty much everything but her face.

By the time Harry was headed up to the Room of Requirement, he was glad it was time to learn (even if he already knew everything being taught). At least that might keep the girls off him for a bit.

I can't wait for class to be over. Harry thought, then continued grimly, I can't wait for my life to be over. Everyone keeps staring at me, or worse, laughing behind my back. I don't even know what's so funny. OR why girls keep trying to climb me like a tree.

Last class of the day. All I have to do is run the gauntlet up to Transfiguration. Surely McGonagall won't let people laugh at me in class?

Harry bolted out of Charms, dodging myriad robe-clad figures (unidentified in his haste). Two corridors away from Transfiguration, he froze.

Malfoy. Well, fuck.

Malfoy, of course, was wearing the new Inquisitional Emblem (a double-headed eagle), and looked like something straight out of Prussia. Well, Malfoy always looked like a Prussian Officer, it was something about how he stood, Harry idly supposed. Snapping his head back to the conversation, Harry heard Malfoy drawl, "No running in the corridors."

Moments later, the girls heading to Transfiguration noticed them both. Instead of getting to class on time, they turned, identical expressions of glee on their faces. (Well, except for Hermione, who looked startled, worried, and a trifle scared.)

They came for Harry Potter in a rush, like a sped up zombie movie.

Malfoy never stood a chance, standing with his back to them - by the time they were past, he was disheveled and sprawled on the floor, moaning so softly Harry lipread it rather than hearing it.

The girls were trying fifteen different ways to liplock with Harry - or press various soft portions of their anatomies on him. Though Harry was generally a big fan of girls', he really didn't like crowds, particularly crowds of people touching him.

It felt a lot more scary than the cupboard under the stair. There, he was just lonely. This reminded him of times that he'd gotten caught when Duds had gone Harry Hunting.

Squeezing his eyes perfectly shut, Harry swallowed, suddenly wanting to scream at the flashbacks and memories pouring through his brain. He could feel sparks and bright flashes of pain, as heavy feet landed on him.

Malfoy's drawl cut through the girls' giggles and light laughter. "That'll be a detention for each of you. Girls, yours will be with Filch. Potter, you can go sit with Snape." Harry was actually envious of how Malfoy could manage to get such varied vocal intonation into what was essentially a bellow. He made it sound like he was just talking, except louder.

Harry gritted his teeth loudly at Malfoy, and said, "Thanks for the detention, you're so kind."

Malfoy, as usual, just smirked in response.

Harry Potter found himself looking forward to DA (or whatever it was that Zach wanted to call it). At least there, he could be assured that people wouldn't be ogling him.

Arriving a few minutes before the appointed time, Harry Potter closed his eyes, and took several deep, calming breaths. Unbidden, some of Snape's words from one of their 'night lessons' leaped into his mind, "Every step you take disturbs the ground, the moss, even the rocks. Take care where you step, and bend only what needs bending."

There would be many people here, Harry hoped. He was going to have to keep his patience, to trust, in so far as he could, that other people could sway the populace.

Every word he spoke would carry more weight than needed, Harry Potter thought. People don't listen to what I say, after all, just that I'm speaking. Harry hadn't exactly gone out of his way to advertise that he wasn't The Chosen One.

Zach opened the door and beckoned Harry and a slim, slight Slytherin in. Harry took a moment to study the younger student, eventually remembering his name - Gils.

Harry Potter, remembering his lessons, tried to slip into the room with as little fuss as possible. It didn't work, but luckily, it was Parvati who was there, ready to pepper him with questions about Pansy, his broken heart and all that. Harry Potter regaled her quietly with the true story, knowing that Parvati was enough of a gossip that the whole thing might die down before the end of the day tomorrow.

Harry was actually surprised that the Slytherins came in singly. They stuck to the edges of the room, unsurprisingly, and didn't really clump together. All in all, they didn't look like they ever did around Hogwarts. They were silent, attentive, and watching. And many of them had looks on their faces that reminded Harry Potter quite vividly of Snape's "you are a bug" look. You know, the one where he inspects you, while looking down his nose.

The Hufflepuffs formed a big group near the center, except for Hannah and Zach, who were busy talking. Harry started to move towards them, only to be stopped by Luna, "Give them a moment. Hannah knows Zach well enough to handle him."

Harry was just considering introducing himself to someone new, when Hermione and Ron showed up. They were nearly the last people there (having apparently lost several shoes in the process of getting here.)

It was one minute early when Draco Malfoy stepped through the door, his face pinked and his hair slightly askew.

Everyone in the room (except the Slytherins and Harry) pulled their wands on him.

"Sorry I'm late," Draco Malfoy deadpan drawled with more aplomb than anyone deserved to have when there were so many angry wands pointed at him.

Harry nearly bit his tongue with the effort not to respond to Malfoy, who was being a pompous, arrogant sod. As always.

Instead, Seamus responded, hot-headily biting off, "Where are your little toadies, Frog Prince?" That was a bit more insult than Harry'd thought Seamus'd be capable of. A bit more intelligence too. Harry Potter was mildly surprised that it wasn't Ron exploding into action...

"With the kind assistance of Miss Granger's orange menace, they are chasing invisible mice in the dungeons." Draco Malfoy said, aiming a half-bow at Granger, who stared at him like she'd never seen him before. Then again, he'd never, ever been even the least bit nice to her.

"Invisible mice?" Luna said, nodding knowledgeably, "Did you summon them, or merely charm them invisible?"

"Summoned, of course," Draco Malfoy said, pulling out his wand and waving it in a complicated gesture (even as half the room tensed), saying the incantation too softly to hear. Several nearby girls screamed. Lavender, in particular, was really loud, "It ran on my foot! I could feel it's tail!"

Draco Malfoy sat there smirking, as the nearby people dissolved into chaos.

About three minutes later, people were back to glaring at Draco - this time with reason.

"I had wondered where Crooks got off to!" Hermione Granger was saying, loudly enough that Draco was sure to overhear.

"No surprise," Draco drawled, "Lot of mice and rats in the dungeon. It's because of all the Hufflepuffs."

"MAL-foy!" Zach hollered. "Be-have."

"Oh, spoil my fun, would you?" Draco said, sulking obviously in a manner that reminded Harry of a five year old.

"Hannah wanted first crack at teaching, so, without further ado, Hannah, you're up!" Zach said, and Hannah stepped onto a short dais.

"I'm not turning my back on Malfoy!" Parvati said quickly. "Who knows what foul ideas he's cooking up _right now_?"

"None, actually. I'm thinking proper red-blooded thoughts about your figure." Draco Malfoy drawled - everyone pointedly ignored him.

Boot spoke up, saying, "I don't precisely trust Malfoy either. Maybe we could petrify him?" Luna looked at Boot disappointedly, and he continued hopefully, "Maybe just for the lecture portion? Other than that, someone'll be able to always have a wand on him. I don't want him interrupting our class."

Malfoy, who clearly disliked the loss of everyone's attention, intoned in that irritating drawl of his, "Fi-ine."

So, it wasn't actually Malfoy who spoke up next. It was... Cressilda. "You're locking up Malfoy?! It's Potter you should watch your back around - he's the hothead!"

Harry did have to admit she had a point, at least in the safe confines of his head. Outside of it, agreeing with the Slytherin was probably dangerous.

It didn't take terribly long for other Slytherins to chime agreement as well, and even a few younger Hufflepuffs joined in.

In the end, Harry didn't say a word. Just looked at Ron and nodded. "Petrificus Totalis" his friend intoned, and Harry felt his whole body freeze, except for his eyes.

Speaking of eyes, Malfoy's were drilling into Ron's - clearly indicating ... Ah! Goyle spoke up, saying, "If you're looking for hotheads, why not freeze the male Weasel too?" Unlike when Malfoy said it, Goyle didn't come across like he was insulting Ron - more like it was "Just A Nickname." Perhaps just trying not to use his first name.

Zach spoke up then, saying, "It'll be enough to have one apiece. If any of the rest of you are pricks, the petrified representative will take the beating. So keep your wands in your pockets, at least until it's practice time."

Harry couldn't help but notice the assessing looks some of the Gryffindors were giving him. Plainly put, they looked like they'd prefer it if they could somehow get Potter hexed. Harry couldn't see Hermione at all, but he could feel her fury coming off of her like waves.

Ah, there she was, Harry thought as Hermione stepped forward, her hair starting to show little blue lightning bolts. "Anyone intentionally gets Harry hurt, and they answer to me." And then, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione smile. That wasn't a Gryffindor smile, either. It was a cool, cold, Slytherin smile that said, "I will get you back, and it's really not worth it."

Harry was very glad Hermione was on his side. She could be downright scary when she wanted to be.

Draco Malfoy was petrified. Well, everything except for his eyes.

This had to be the strangest way to be taught ever.

Though, Draco idly supposed, it did keep his mouth shut - so at least someone was benefiting.

He'd been surprised by the Gryffindor reaction to petrifying Potter - they didn't seem to have much sense of unity in the first place, but actively wanting to hurt Potter? Now, Draco was a realist, and he wouldn't have been surprised if any Slytherin (even Pansy) would take a potshot at himself. He knew he had a sharp tongue and a nasty temper. Potter was sunshine and roses in comparison.

Draco listened as Hannah jumped onto the small dais (her small height making it crucial for being seen). "Attention, class, your teacher calls for silence!"

Surprisingly, most of the room quieted down, and even the whisperers were quiet enough to let her be heard.

Hannah continued, "We will be learning the Patronus spell this week. There will be three meetings, and by the end, I expect every one of you to be proficient." Draco wanted to frown, but realized that wasn't going to work. Man, this petrification was horrid.

Did Abbot not realize what the Patronus charm entailed? How was she teaching it, if so?

No, this was just stupid Hufflepuff optimism. Optimism that 'everyone's gotta have a good memory! a happy memory!"

Malfoy wondered if Potter was rolling his eyes half as hard as Malfoy was rolling his at this maudlin sentiment. Malfoy glanced over at Potter, and had the strangest intuition - that Potter was hating being petrified more than he was. Odd, that.

Hermione and the Ravenclaws took turns answering Abbot's questions, and Malfoy had to admit that it seemed like they'd already learned all about this. Hannah Abbot took several minutes explaining the incantation, and then called select people up to explain what their happy memory was. Granger's was "when I learned about Hogwarts", which was _sadly_ typical and predictable (Imagine if she'd said "the time I slapped Malfoy across the face" - at least that wouldn't be boring!). At least with Potter petrified he couldn't be called on.

"Finite Incantem," Zach said, and Draco flexed his muscles, freeing them from the paralysis. Across the room, he noticed Harry Potter doing the same - except the look on his face was more like euphoria. _Definitely_ strange, that.

Draco had a thousand different happy memories, and he started trying them one by one. And so he was rather upset when Susan Bones showed up, and tried to be helpful, "You're getting the incantation perfect. I think it's just the wrong memory." Draco shut her out of his skull, and continued, having moved on from 'times I tortured Potter' to childhood memories. Nothing really seemed to be working. Looking around, most Slytherins appeared to be having some deal of trouble.

"Why isn't anyone else having trouble?" Draco Malfoy asked

Luna breezed by, saying, "They learned it last year, of course. Neville's still practicing, because he never wants to screw up that spell."

Harry was quiet, watching Hannah interact with a remarkable lack of concern for people's houses. He'd have to ask her about that, she was displaying more maturity than ... well, most anyone else.

Hermione was near Magryta, showing her - again - how to create the appropriate sounds to cast the spell. Harry tuned them out almost absentmindedly. He noticed that a lot of the Gryffindors were looking mutinous...

Now was that upset at having to relearn, or upset that the Slytherins were learning about it?

Harry approached them (disliking the glares that he was getting - really, it wasn't like he'd actually kissed a Slytherin, even.), but instead of looking at them, he focused on the rest of the room, letting his eyes glance off knots of people.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"We already know how to do this, Harry," Nevile said quietly.

"So, you're going to play telephone." Harry said, his mouth splitting into a wide grin.

"Telephone?" Seamus asked, still sounding suspicious.

"Yeah, telephone!" Dean chimed in. "Look, you can all cast Patronuses, right?"

"Patronii" Nott said from nearby, and Dean looked over with a shrugged "whatever."

"So, we're going to start passing messages. In a circle around the room."

"What good'll that do?" Tina asked, her tiny voice ringing out from behind Parvati.

"It's a game. Doesn't need to "do good" " Dean said roughly.

"It's for fun, sure," Harry said, noticing Ron coming over to join the group. "But the point of the game is... well, you'll see."

They split up, equidistant around the room. Harry noticed Malfoy eyeing Seamus and Ron as they took up positions behind his back. Harry flicked his wand, spelling the incantation precisely, thinking about his father, and how much he'd loved Harry. A silver stag stood in front of him, and he said to it, "The skyline was beautiful on fire, all twisted metal stretching upwards, everything washed in a thin pinkish haze." As he watched the stag leap towards Rickard, Harry turned towards the rest of the room.

Malfoy was looking at him, those silver eyes of his flashing, "Pretty words, Potty. Didn't think you knew half of them."

"It's a song." Harry said, flushing slightly, though he really did know the lyrics well.

"Must be a muggle song," Malfoy drawled, "Only they'd sing about something so gloomy."

"When dark's the only thing you've got, that's ripe for singing." Harry said, remembering days spent locked in a cupboard, where the only thought that rang in his head were scraps of songs.

"What would you know about the Dark?" Malfoy scoffed, his steely eyes arrogantly challenging.

"It's hearth and home to me." Harry Potter said softly, thinking back to days spent in the cupboard, and other days when the screams wouldn't leave him be, waking or asleep.

Malfoy closed his eyes and tried the Patronus charm again.

"Haven't got a happy memory, do you?" Harry Potter said, snickering as Malfoy turned blazingly angry eyes on him.

"Apparently not," Malfoy snapped, his generalized drawl evaporating completely.

"We'll have to do something about that," Harry said, speaking more to himself than to Malfoy, though he was sure Malfoy heard. Indeed, he wasn't the only one having a problem - by the end of class, only two Slytherins had managed the charm. The young William had turned a blindingly white smile on everyone in the room, though, casting the charm over and over again, his wolf spider flickering into being - once it got close enough to Ron to make him scream, which made William's joy quiet for a moment, as he came over to quietly apologize to Ron. Harry muffled a grin at the sight - good thing not all the Slytherins were Malfoy-level prats.

The other Slytherin was Goyle, and his corporeal patronus was a mooncalf, whose golden horns shone silver, and whose hoof stomping indicated that he was spoiling for a fight.

"Good class," Malfoy said to Hannah on his way out, "You'd better figure out how to teach happy, though, or everyone's just going to get frustrated."

They all waited until Malfoy was out of the room, and Hannah gave a big sigh, "He's right, you know."

"When I need to calm down a frightened creature, I generally sing to them," Goyle said slowly, "It calms them down, the patterns in the music..."

"So, you think we might could teach happy?" Harry put in.

"Yeah!" Boot said with a smile. "Why shouldn't we be able to?"

Hermione had that glittering look of unquenchable curiosity, and Harry just knew that she'd have a dozen ideas soon enough. "Let's meet before the next meeting, just us, and we'll figure something out."

Everyone was nodding as they left.

The Gryffindors, as a whole, seemed marginally more inclined to like Harry Potter after the lesson. Maybe it was just him establishing that he wasn't running away from prior commitments? He knew he probably shouldn't care that much, but they were his house. He really should have learned his lesson and stopped counting on them. But when was the last time he'd done something the right way - the first time? With a wince, Harry mentally heard himself shouting out for Sirius...

Hermione looked at him and winked, saying, "Well, we didn't die, so I guess that lesson worked out pretty well."

Harry nodded, not quite listening, then saying, "It wasn't my lesson! It was Hannah's!"

"Really...?" Hermione said, "So you were really taking Hannah for a walk around the lake?"

"well," harry said, suddenly staring down at his shoes. "maybe not..."

Later, Harry ascended to his room, going up earlier than anyone else because all of a sudden he felt ferociously tired, like his exhaustion would eat him alive.

On his bed was a golden coin. It looked like Hermione's golden galleon... except that it had a phoenix on it.

RoR 3:30pm Saturday

was what the coin read.

Harry picked it up, and found a small white note on his bed. "Newly minted." it said.

Hmph, Harry thought. Who could, would have written that?

More importantly, this was obviously an Order meeting, and Harry was excited. He hadn't seen mention of Voldemort in the papers for, oh, say, about five weeks now. It was vaguely worrisome.

Finally some answers!

Before he could spend another second worrying, sleep claimed him like an inexorable tide.

* * *

Hogsmeade Weekend! was Harry's first thought on rising. There's a special sort of life in Hogwarts whenever it's a Hogsmeade weekend, the snap and sizzle of possibilities (though, to be fair, Harry'd only been in Gryffindor Tower. He idly pictured a tenser, more snake-coiled-in-waiting intensity in the Slytherin common room, and then quietly giggled - of course they were just as excited. Wasn't Harry's fault if they were shite for showing it).

Harry flung his curtains open, finding Neville sitting up as he opened his curtains. "Ow!" Neville said, a golden coin falling from his face onto his morning wood. Poor Neville - he must not have noticed the coin last night.

Without a second thought (or a by your leave), Harry jumped into Neville's bed, pulling the curtains shut. "Keep that out of public view." Harry said in a low and reasonable voice (he'd plenty of experience at whispers being overheard, courtesy of Piers Polkins).

"What is it, Harry?" Neville asked, adopting the same reverential tone.

Explaining it all to Neville took only a handful of carefully chosen words. As Harry climbed out of Neville's bed, his mind echoed with a sparkly, grim thought** - Hermione was going to be insufferable when she realized that the Order had used her spell. Unless she'd helped them cast it... Harry shook his head - that note definitely didn't seem like her style.

Ron was actually looking at Harry for a chance, so Harry cheerfully told his own hunger to stuff a sock in it, and looked at his friend, "What is it, Ron, you haven't been yourself in _days_."

His eyes still looked distant, as he broke out again in that goofy, dazzled grin, "Lavender Brown - can you believe Lavender likes _me_?"

_As a matter of fact, I can. She's not the swiftest knife in the drawer, that's for sure._ Harry gave his friend a wide grin, nodding. "Oh, I've known that for years..." Harry said. _I may not be much for paying attention to the entire bloody school, but I do know a thing or two about most Gryffindors._

Ron gave a wistful sigh through that distant grin.

Harry looked over at his friend again, asking, "Is that what's been turning you into a space cadet?"

"A what?" Ron said, and Harry immediately missed Hermione.

"A muggle at Hogwarts?" Harry responded.

"Oh! Yeah, kinda, I guess..." Ron scratched at the back of his neck, looking a bit awkward.

"so..." Harry said, "What are you gonna do about it?"

Ron looked at him, a brief flash of panic running through his eyes, "I have no idea..."

*saw one of these at the meat market when I was eight.

**picture sparkly slag heap - pretty, grim dour. All together!

[a/n: This author likes reviews. This author writes a good few stories, and the more reviews you give, the more story you get.]


	10. Patronus

"Harry! Harry!" Gin waved as he walked into the Great Hall at breakfast. He didn't need to look at the Slytherins in the room to know that they were glaring at him for being such a bloody public spectacle. It _wasn't_ as if he _liked_ it...

He trotted over to Gin, and asked, "What is the matter, Ginny?"

"Harry! We never told you how the telephone came out!" Hermione Granger said, giggling, "Sky was beautiful fire, all twists met upwards, every wash in thin pink gauze."

Harry let out a decent guffaw, suppressing how loud it was _just_ before the rest of the hall turned to look at the Former Chosen One. Oh, the Slytherins were probably looking - but that was nothing new, and Harry couldn't be bothered with what they were thinking.

* * *

Hogsmeade was a swirl of laughter, words floating on the breeze. Harry was there with Ron and Hermione, and they were darting back and forth as stores caught their interest. All in all, it was a busy, productive day. Harry'd have loved this first year, he thought with a grin. However, this year, Harry wondered if he'd have time for the homework before Monday. His friends never seemed to think about his extended coursework when compiling study schedules. _And whose fault is that?_

Harry'd had so much fun doing silly, small things that he'd even neglected looking at other people. Which, turned out to be a rather flagrant mistake.

"Why, hello there! It's Mister Harry Potter!" Minister Fudge effused in Harry's general direction. _Shite, _Harry thought - I'd have dodged him if I'd noticed him.

That was Draco Malfoy beside the Minister, too. _Even worse..._ Harry wanted to grumble.

"Why don't the three of us go off and discuss common ground." Minister Fudge said, to Harry's absolute bafflement. _Nobody_ adult paid attention to children. Surely not on large matters. Then again, Harry thought, I do have a trust fund...

Harry wasn't sure what to expect, heading into his first real Order Meeting. Particularly in the Room of Requirement. He entered with his wand in his hand, his shoulder leading, and in a half crouch.

"Expecting someone else, Potter?" Tonks said with a cheery grin, her foot balanced on the tipped back of another chair.

"Constant Vigilance." Harry responded, closing the door and inspecting the room. There was one table, shaped in a cloverleaf, of all configurations (that Had to be Dumbledore, Harry thought with exasperated amusement), wall sconces, and half the room was lined with dusty old books. _Was this the first time they'd used this - or did they just like to conjure sneezes?_

"Oh, divine, the first of the glorious Gryffindors. Bravery will not be a requirement for the next hour or three, I'm afraid." Snape seemed to ooze venom out of those greasy pores of his. Harry wanted to frown in exasperation, and ask Snape just what the hell he was really doing. The infamously impatient misanthrope attending at all was one thing, but arriving _early_? That defied belief.*

Before Harry could speak, Gin and Ron and Hermione piled in. "Lovely, the rest of the headless heartsmen. If only I had a brain." Snape managed that last in a darkly dire melody**, which Harry could vaguely sense ought to have been funny. But, as it was Snape, it was unwise to laugh at any comment. He was the type to demand attention, and respect.

Before the door could shut, Luna Longbottom gently sashayed through, her bottlecap necklace sparkling over her robes. Who wore robes on Saturday? Luna Lovegood everyone.

"Oh, and the Daffy Raven as well." Snape's acid voice rang out in that soft way that echoed through the room.

Luna looked at Snape - keeping her usual vacant expression, of course - and reprimanded, "Daffy was a Duck."

"Do you want me to get you a bill?" Snape shot back.

"Oh, my humor's not that good. Not worth knut-ting." Luna conceded humbly.

Other people piled in, and Snape grew quieter. The Gryffindors were carrying on a grand conversation (Luckily, it wasn't about Lavender Brown), and the older order members filed in. Harry's eyes kept track on the arrivals, and on Snape's responses.

Harry Potter had something to say to Snape, and the hubbub of the room made a decent cover, as most people hadn't deigned to sit (and Snape, while seated, had his back to the wall and was using his sharply angular legs to clear space around him). Harry approached from the side, quietly moving in the holes in the crowd. It was something he'd taken to early in his life, in primary school when drawing notice meant the pain of Dudley's punch. The pace was excruciatingly slow... but it was also nearly unnoticeable. Not that most of his friends were looking, but there was always the chance that Remus Lupin or Moody would look up and see.

By the time Harry had approached to something resembling Snape's side (standing about three feet away - a far, but comfortable distance for talking), the room was getting inordinately crowded.

They both faced the crowd, as was prudent. Harry spoke up, trying (and probably failing) to emulate Snape's liltingly soft voice. "Thank you for the detention, sir."

"Are you trying to insinuate that I'm losing my memory?" Snape spat, "Exactly _when_ was this mythical detention?"

"Why, right now, of course." Harry said, his mouth curving slightly into a shadow of a smile.

"What possible reason did you see to involve me in your lies?" Snape hissed.

"You're the reason I had to lie in the first place." Harry stated baldly.

Snape shot to his feet, the elegantly facade of nonchalance evaporating instantly. "How's that?" Snape's hands had curled into fists, and Harry could see the effort he was putting into not grabbing Harry by the collar and throwing him against the wall.

"Fudge wanted Malfoy and I to support his campaign. The Minister looked like his brief conversation might have lasted days." Potter said, his eyes cold. "Malfoy may still be there, for all I know."

"Very well," Snape said, those black eyes drilling into Harry's green eye (Harry had still not turned to face Snape, maintaining the insouciant pose), "In the future, anything you need my word to back up should be communicated to me as soon as possible." Harry nodded, his eyes discretely on Snape. "At that point, I will decide whether or not I will corroborate your story." Harry's feet shifted uneasily beneath him - he really hadn't asked himself what he'd have done if Snape had just called him a worthless liar. "I will, of course, inform you of this, so that you may prepare accordingly."

"Yes, sir." Harry Potter said crisply.

In a voice that was softer than a whisper, Snape added, "One point to Gryffindor. For cleverness. It would hardly do for you, of all people, to miss the first meeting of the year. People still look to you to set an example, gods know why."

In the great hall, one ruby gem dropped into the bottom of the hourglass. Harry had seen that happen so many times over the course of his schooling, but this one was different. Like a crack in the ground after an earthquake, it just sat there - radiating latent danger. Kind of like Snape himself, if you think about it.

"ORDER!" Dumbledore rumbled.

"Next stop: The Valley of Boredom." Snape drawled softly, carrying his chair back to the table.

Snape had been right. Arthur Weasley spent nearly twenty minutes talking about helicopters, except the way he said it, it sounded like heely-kopters. This didn't seem to bear much resemblance to "information that might be useful to the War against Voldemort," particularly as half of what he was talking about was actively wrong or misleading. Helicopters didn't run on petrol, for instance. They ran on kerosene, which was much, much more flammable. And if even Harry knew that... Well, they were wizards, and old ones at that. Probably not used to listening to their younger bloods.

Molly Weasley was even worse, her stories tending towards gossip, as she filled everyone in on the goings on at Ottery St. Catchpole. Of course, it might have been useful to have an invisible ear on the ground, if Lord Voldemort was actually doing something. But did we really need to hear about how Evie's aunt Risca got her hair dyed green and couldn't fix it? Besides, Harry was internally quite certain that Hermione could fix it at will.

And on and on, though Harry had to give Moody credit - at least his commentary on the Auror work that he was steadily infiltrating as an outside consultant was fascinating business.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed - the entire meeting seemed truly interminable, when Snape stood up (He had occupied a place as far away from the middle of the table as possible, and when he stood, he loomed over everyone. "My report: The Dark Lord appears amused at the sight of the Order of the Phoenix running about like chickens with heads cut off - blood spurting everywhere. He has adopted a wait-and-see attitude, though I'm certain that he's advancing longer range plans that he hasn't seen fit to involve me in. I strongly suggest that the Order continue to feed his assumptions on this matter, whether they are accurate or not." Harry, internally, thought that they were more accurate than Snape was making them sound. Snape'd been about the only person with spine at Grimmauld, and Harry'd caught McGonagall looking at him with a saddened expression this morning at breakfast even.

It almost seemed like... everyone had hoped that Harry would be able to fix what his own blood had created (well, everyone except Snape, of course.). Oh, and sure, Harry thought wryly, if I'd been able to just WISH him away, I'd have done so posthaste.

"Your report's done. Time to leave, spy." Moody growled, tamping his cane on the ground once, hard.

Snape left with a sneer, Harry looking after him a bit jealously - he at least got to leave. It wasn't like harry had anything to report. Of course, that did explain why the boring people went first - if Snape wasn't trusted with the more secretive matters.

Harry Potter rapidly discovered, as the meeting turned more intricate and delicate, that he was honestly getting angry that Snape wasn't here. True, these were the Order's plans, or scant shadows of Voldemort's cast on the wall... things that Dumbledore would rather Voldemort not know about, at nearly any cost.

But still, it felt wrong to him. Like the sound of a snake slithering through grass - almost unnoticeable and completely spine-tingling.

Snape, of course, was a top-drawer actor. He'd had to be to survive being a spy (and, perhaps, Harry contemplated, being a teacher as well. He couldn't have started as that dark bastard of the classroom, could he have? At some point, he'd have stood up there, just as nervous as Harry or Hermione'd been the first DA meeting...).

But, it seemed like Dumbledore was actively forgetting a far more integral part of Snape - his insight. Unlike Hermione's, it was tuned to people, not magic or things. He'd known it was Quirrel, after all. And even in fourth year, when they'd all been jumping at shadows, while the real danger lurked below...

And it wasn't like they were really planning anything amazing. The biggest plans they had were to send the Open Order Members (a contradiction in terms for a vigilante organization, but Voldemort knew about some of them - and not always through Snape) scanning the Continent for birth certificates. Testing the children.

Harry shuddered. It had been hard enough coming to terms with being Britain's Saviour at the tender age of eleven. How much worse would it be, at the age of sixteen, and when you didn't even live there? "Oh, excuse me, good chap, would you mind popping over and saving our bonnie wee land?" Harry really hoped that Hagrid wouldn't be breaking the news. Hagrid was a good friend, and all, but he wasn't really the type. McGonagall would be a better choice.

As the meeting continued, Harry slipped more into the doldrums of his mind. What if this Saviour was some sort of genius? Nothing like Harry Potter at all... something like Hermione, or Dumbledore (ak! thinking of him at age sixteen was actively horrifying!). Would they all clap Harry Potter on the shoulder, saying "we're sorry, old boy, for putting all our cares and hopes on you. Obviously there was a better choice, right there all along."

Even Hermione, who'd been scribbling notes most of the meeting, was starting to flag. Neville and Ron were being inattentive, but that wasn't unusual. The weasley twins had their heads together, in a look that Harry'd recognize any day of the week, it was so familiar.

As the meeting ended, Harry Potter stood up, his friends exiting with him - as he slowly started to work on controlling his anger. He was not going to storm up and yell at Albus Dumbledore! He ... wasn't.

"I'm going flying." He said curtly, and said no more, though he was aware of Ron and Hermione's eyes on his back, watching him worriedly.

* * *

Sunday dawned, crisp and clear - the sky the actinic blue of Autumn, piercingly bright. Harry Potter rose as a force of will, sweeping through the Gryffindor dorms - a nudge here, a cough there. People begin to stir. Harry's already dressed, with his robes looking pressed and pristine. Which would be all to the good and all, if his wayward, rampant hair wasn't ruining the look. It was apparently trying for a mohawk today. Harry had decided he wasn't speaking to his hair, and was going to ignore it, because it always did what it wanted.

Harry went down the stairs, and found himself staring up at the Girls' side of the dorm. It was such a beautiful day, it would be a shame if anyone wasted any last second of it. And so, Harry began to sing. "Ri-ise and Shine, and Give God the Glory Glory..." It was a song that Harry'd heard on a Summer Camp movie a very long time ago, but he'd memorized it (catchy tune that it was), and so he was waking the dorm with it.

At least he was until Hermione cannonballed into him, giggling and laughing.

And then there were two. "Riiise and shiiine and give god the glory glory!"

Dean followed, hurrying down, his face split in a wide grin. "Man, I haven't heard this in ages!"

And then there were three. "Riiise and shiiine and give god the glory glory!"

As if in waves, the Gryffindors charged down the stairs, half wanting to flee the horribly catchy and offtune song - the others wanting to smother the offending instruments of their aural pain.

* * *

By the time they sat at the Great Hall, half the Gryffindors were sporting some sort of bruise, bump or sore spot. They were all grinning happily, though, and the Slytherins eyed their seats warily, as if wondering what new trick the Gryffs had come up with. The Ravenclaws liked to pretend that they were above noticing other people, but with the Gryffs that happily carefree...

"Why're you all so ebullient?" Draco Malfoy drawled, approaching the table at an angle, so it was clear that he was really just heading towards the Slytherin table. Or at least, Harry thought, that was the theory. Light forbid that Draco Malfoy voluntarily or willingly want to talk with Gryffindors!

"Donnybrook in the Common Room," Seamus drawled, doing a surprising imitation of Draco himself.

Dean said, "You shoulda seen the shiner I put on Weasley there!"

Gin responded, "Yeah, I oughta shine you, for that!"

"You'd have to hit me first!"

"Easy as pie!"

As the table dissolved into recounting different bits of the brouhaha, only Hermione and Harry's eyes stayed pinned on Draco Malfoy, who simply rolled his eyes, and said uncomprehendingly, "Gryffindors."

"Just spreading happiness at the end of a fist, Malfoy." Harry said, giving the Slytherin a toothy, sharp-edged grin. "Want a rematch?"

"Hardly fair, when I won the first round." Draco Malfoy drawled.

"As if!" Harry snorted, "You tried to sic Filch on us...but we escaped!"

"Maybe we do need a duel, then..." Malfoy said smoothly, softly, letting the entire conversation carry on below the din of the Gryffindor table. "I'll be in touch."

As Draco Malfoy sauntered over to his table, Hermione looked at Harry, eyes wide, and asked, "Did you just -?"

Harry nodded, looking a bit baffled, "Yeah, I think I did. Stupid, right?"

Hermione smirked, flicking her not-a-wand out of her sleevepocket with a thought, "Good training." she said approvingly.

Harry was one of the first Gryffindors out of his seat at Breakfast, ignoring the look that Ron shot him (more of confusion than anything else, as if he couldn't understand why Harry was leaving first). Hermione made to gather together her stuff, but Harry didn't wait for her.

He was headed towards the Room of Requirement, and he wanted to get there first. He had a few ideas as to how to make a happy memory, and he'd need a bit of luck, a bit of time, and a bit of careful planning.

Unfortunately, Luna Lovegood was there before him, so that put paid to his plans. Except... that when he approached, Luna winked at him. "Come on in, the water's warm!" she said, and traipsed into the happily solid room (Harry wasn't the best at swimming).

"What'd you pick?" Harry asked, getting the first look at the room as he closed the door behind him.

"Nothing, yet! You want something, head left and ask!" Luna responded gayly.

Harry thought a moment, pulling together a curtain (that looked like a bath curtain, so he shook his head and tried again, getting a red "opening night" curtain instead.). Harry nodded at that, and started to concentrate on a stage worthy of the scene he wanted to craft.

Luna, to the right, started to sing, concentrating on Butterflies and sun-dappled meadows, bunnies and all sorts of pleasant things.*

Hermione came in, and looked baffled at what was going on. "What's happening?"

"Oh, hi Hermione," Luna said with a smile, "Have you any ideas on how to make someone a happiest memory?"

"Tons!" Hermione said. "I started with sunshine, and then I couldn't help but remember Crookshanks playing with a toy..."

"Oooh, give me those!" Luna said, snatching the list right out of Hermione's hand. "Just a mo', this won't take long." Peeking out from behind the curtain, Harry could see Luna twirling away, a pleasant reading nook with a fire and hot chocolate appearing, and Harry's mouth started to water just thinking about it.

Harry smiled, as he peeked out from behind the curtain. Everyone seemed to have a different definition of what would create a happy memory, and as more people showed up, the Room of Requirement got steadily more bombastic and intricate. Maybe you had to be there, Harry thought, bouncing from puffy cloud to cloud, trying to reach Cloud Nine (it was labeled, thank you Hermione), or in Vince's world of vicious breezes and swifter than Satan broomsticks. I think that's more thrilling than gleeful, Harry thought, although he'd looked at what Luna had first conjured, and just gotten calm, rather than happy, so what did he know?

Someone was baking a pie, Harry could tell, sniffing at the scent wafting over his curtains. Peeking out the other side of the curtain, he could see... That's Theo Nott, nicking a pie off the windowsill. Catching Harry looking at him, Nott gave the green eyed boy a wink. _I don't think I've ever seen him smile..._ Harry considered.

Hermione had, for some strange reason, gone into the broomstick space, and was casting... spells? As Harry watched, the broomsticks began careening out of control, some of the weaker flyers crying out in fear, and some of the stronger ones just holding on for the ride. But Hermione still had her wand up, and she began spinning it slowly, and the broomsticks got ever more wild. As people fell, they disappeared from the scene and Harry would just have to hope that they weren't gone for good, or bleeding. Finally, Hermione gave a final wave of her wand, and all the broomsticks disappeared, leaving multiple students screaming bloody murder as they plummeted toward the ground.

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly thankful that the RoR was soundproof.

Harry heard gleeful giggling, a sort of hysterical laughter, and opened his eyes. The broomstick flyers were crowding around Hermione - they were all on trampolines, Harry suddenly recognized, and started to bounce her into the air. Unharmed, relieved - and unexpectedly playful.

Harry hadn't really believed that he could, would, _ever_ see some of this.

Draco Malfoy walked through the scenes, seeming as if the entire thing might roll off his back, not interacting with anything. The Hufflepuffs had created a skinship zone, where people were hugging each other, and Draco sidestepped a few of them, as they nearly fell trying to interact with a body that wasn't there.

_It's showtime!_

Harry's magic whipped the curtain back, and he stood there, three red balls in his hands, as he let the crowd get a good gander at him. Dressed in baggy clothes, with big shoes, Harry's face was painted sad, and he had a big red nose, so he'd look like a drunk. Well, a drunk he could play, at least. "Shtep right up- Here's da showsh! Juggling and dancing -" People were starting to gather, from other realities, other happy places.

Harry started to juggle, never paying no mind that he didn't really know how. It made it awkward, trying to catch three things and have them in the air at once, but that just lead to wild armed flailing and balls half the time on the floor. It was utterly ridiculous, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught one of the Slytherin girls smothering a grin.

Harry Potter finished his juggling act with a backwards somersault that he spun into as he bent to pick up one ball and stepped on another. The audience echoed with laughter, some chortling, some with a more raucous beat - Harry could see, as he stood stiffly up and bowed, still rubbing his backside, that Zach Smith was laughing malevolently. Malfoy somehow looked superior, even while laughing. "Don't quit your day job." Draco Malfoy hollered.

"Our Turn!" Padma and Parvati said, standing up on both sides of Harry and tugging him down off the stage. They both returned to the stage, and snapped their fingers. Indian music began to play, and they did a mirror dance, displaying for everyone exactly how accomplished they were. Harry couldn't help but look at their hips, and breasts, as they swayed to the music, undulating in place and spinning like dervishes.

Wendy and Jill stood up, and took to the stage, singing a muggle song, "Love potion number ni-i-ine."

Who knew Collin Creevey could do magic tricks? Granted, they weren't good tricks (you could generally tell when he palmed the cards), but it was driving the purebloods absolutely crazy that he wasn't using a wand! Harry hadn't the heart to tell them that it wasn't that kind of magic. Besides, explaining muggle magic tricks to Ron Weasley would take _hours_.

Seamus and Dean were next, singing Weird Science. That got strange looks from everyone.

_When had this become a bloody talent show?_

From behind the whole audience (which was most of the DA), a Middle-eastern tune sprang up, and, as everyone turned around, they saw Blaise Zambini, looking like Aladdin himself, smiling a wicked grin. "Join me, let's have some fun." He called out, his hips swaying to the beat. "Nothing below the belt, otherwise, it's all fair game." _Why - doesn't he just know he's the hottest boy in school? Well, if not that, at least the wildest. Who'd else have dared to suggest an orgy?_

Lavender strode into the Harem, full of fountains and pillows and Arabic arches. "Me first," She said with a saucy grin, planting a kiss on Blaise's lips that lasted only ten seconds, yet wound up with them both twisting tongues.

"Who'll take this fine lady off my hands?" Blaise yelled, completely amused.

"I'll do that," Zach Smith said, oozing onto the dance floor. Pansy was next, and she took the opportunity to plant a kiss on Lavender's mouth. Harry, intently studying the developing scene, was nonetheless aware of panting boys around him, with wide eyes and hungry looks.

Sue Bones actually pushed Hannah into the Harem next, and then Hannah, laughing and blushing, grabbed Sue and dragged her along.

With a cool eyeroll, Draco Malfoy stepped into the Harem, stepped up behind Hannah, and wrapped his hands around her waist, as he planted a kiss on her neck. Hannah looked back at him as Draco turned her, so that they were both facing the ... audience. "Hey, Griffindorks, what's the matter, you _scared_?" That was, needless to say, a _really_ strange tone to use while taunting people. It was almost like he _wanted_ to invite us, but ... couldn't find the words, except for insults.

With a wave of his wand, Harry stripped out of the weirdest parts of his gear, leaving him in tattered clothes, but without big shoes or a red nose. He walked, steadily, towards the Harem - and people murmured around him. Hermione looked at him with a glare, and Gin felt like she was giving him more than that - a "don't fuck with me" stare. So, Harry did what Harry was going to do.

First, he smiled, that ten galleon smile that he knew (somehow!) made girls shriek.

Next, he said, "I've never been the type to turn down a dare."

Then, he grabbed Gin Weasley (who shrieked), as he twirled her in.

Harry wasn't, um, quite as prepared for the kiss-with-tongue she planted on his face. Or her muttered comment, "Stick with me, kid." What was that, really? was she referencing something? Offering to look out for him? Harry wasn't sure he shouldn't be offended by that... Still, Gin was pretty - he'd meant it when he'd said she looked like a knockout, and it was fun carding his hands through her short copper hair.

Others took that as their cue, and the whole place was filled with people necking, dancing, snogging. Hermione stood on the edge, looking nervous, until someone - either Goyle or Millie, Harry thought, grabbed her and tugged her bodily into the scrum. Ron still stood outside, looking a bit wary - but everyone else had managed to get in. Well, let him be. Harry's eyes focused on Ernie, his pudgy fat hand rolling over Daphne Greengrass's pert little breast. She was laughing at his eagerness, her hand guiding his. Luna's hands were wrapped around - was that Zambini? Harry thought it was, and he couldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it. Gretchen had her arms around little Collin Creevey, who was looking so unsure of himself, that Harry'd not really thought possible...

Owch! Harry looked around, to see Gin grinning at him, "You forgot about me, didn't you?" Sheepishly, Harry nodded assent.

The room narrowed down to Gin's thin lips and her small, perky breasts. Harry didn't even notice a single other detail until the entirety of the Harem was washed out with one loud cascade of water, right out of the ceiling.

"That's enough of that, Harry - that's my sister!" Ron Weasley said, and Harry flushed beet red.

"Thanks for ruining it for the rest of us," Seamus complained.

"Hey, that was my line," Draco Malfoy responded, his hands still wrapped around ... Hannah Abbot, flushed a pretty pink.

"Now, this _should_ go without saying, but if you _must_ gossip about this, do it _in_ this Room, not outside." Draco Malfoy said, softly but clearly - in that peculiar carrying tone that Snape always used in class. Draco Malfoy, who looked cool as a cucumber saying it, too. Sometimes Harry hated how even-keeled the Slytherins could be. It made them deuced difficult to read.

Hermione, on the other hand, was a snap to read - and she had her hand raised to her face, two fingers on her lips, and she was staring off into space. And that was all Harry _really_ needed to see, to put together all the clues.

_Shite_, so he's kissed her then? Why that _twerp_ \- running _away_ was he? Harry wanted to kick something, and hard. Preferably Malfoy's arse. Here's good old Harry, there to pick up the pieces. Yeah, that's me, good old Harry Potter. Best Friend. This... was going to suck. Better make sure Ron doesn't figure it out, too - despite his current obsession with Lavender Brown, he's had a longstanding crush on Hermione... and he hasn't managed the bollocks to kiss her yet, either. Which means jealousy on top of jealousy, served up with a side of _more_ jealousy.

Well, Harry thought, I can't _deal_ with this now, particularly since it's classtime. Set it _aside_, deal with it later.

"It seems like imagination's the key," Theodore Nott said, loud enough to carry. "Why don't we each try conjuring something happy?"

Around Harry, there were nods, and - the Slytherins especially, began to conjure miniature rooms for themselves. Moments later, Harry heard the distinctive sounds of a bed squeaking out a humping rhythm.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood there uncomfortably, as the whole tenor of the Room seemed to change, _smelling_ more... keyed up. Harry would have buried his head in his hands, but this actually might prove helpful, and he couldn't really begrudge anyone the opportunity to feel good if it wasn't hurting anyone.

There was a sound, like a soap bubble popping, and suddenly Luna was twenty feet above ground, in a clear white space, falling. Hermione quickly cast a cushioning charm, and then there was another pop, leaving a fourth year student falling, who Harry, almost without thinking, caught in a featherlight spell, watching the tanned boy float softly to the ground.

The soap bubbles turned into a cascade, like popping corn, and Harry was sure that someone was going to miss being caught. The end of the popping caught Blaise Zambini, with his trousers half down, and his penis out. Blushing, He gave a wide, white grin to the ladies, as he tucked himself back into his pants. _That's one bloke that's sure he's well endowed_, Harry thought with amusement.

Luna said, hesitantly, "I guess we _can_ overload the Room of Requirement..."

"We should try it again, only carefuller this time!" Hermione bubbled furiously. Everyone looked at her askance, and, as she fell out of her "science-trance", she looked at everyone staring dubiously at her, and said, "It was just a thought! For science!"

The rest of the DA meeting seemed to fly by, Harry thought, though it might have been just his blatant "not paying attention."

As the meeting began to break up, Harry tugged Hermione off to one side, saying, "We need to practice more."

Hermione nodded at him, her mouth grinning gleefully. It was rare, after all, for Harry to want to do more work, even at defense, which he was honestly sharp at.

"Tomorrow, same time, same place." Harry said, grinning at his "already busy planning" friend - Harry might be more of a people person than Hermione'd ever be, but she was certainly the person to turn to when you needed something academic done. How had she managed to not get into Ravenclaw?

Neither of them noticed Draco Malfoy, standing very quietly and eavesdropping shamelessly behind a potted plant that Lovegood had conjured.

* * *

Harry could tell that Hermione wanted to talk with him - she kept on shooting him urgent glances, and then sighing in frustration. Even Ron asked at breakfast, "what's up with her, Harry?" Harry had just given a shrug, though he knew quite well what was up with her. It wasn't his call to tell, anyway. And he'd have advised Hermione against telling Ron anyway. Gin was grinning at Harry like she'd pullled the golden goose, and she seemed to expect him to want to sit beside her. Which, he generally didn't mind doing, but he also didn't want her to get any ideas... They were _not_ dating, and he did _not_ fancy her... much (one episode in the shower doesn't count, he did that with practically every girl). So he sat on Ron's other side, and dealt with Gin shooting him glares - which, he thought, was much better than her openly weeping. He always felt so confused when girls had a good cry. Was he supposed to hold them? Would that be a bad idea when Gin clearly fancied him?

So, so much better to be glared at.

* * *

Potions in the afternoon was ... well, almost disconcertingly normal. First Snape collected homework - sans the normal comment on Hermione's overeagerness (Harry thought that she'd brought her pages down to just under the asked for amount). Then, Snape was lecturing about potions that could take away someone's will, and then using the Babbling Beverage as his example - the one the class was to brew. Babbling Beverage was an easy potion, but the point of the exercise was to make certain that everyone in the advanced potions class knew how to do the simple things right. Snape corrected everyone, somehow - even Malfoy and Hermione. It was remarkably impartial, and Harry almost felt himself beginning to relax in Potions class - and that _never_ happened!

"Potter," Snape said abruptly, nearly making Harry jump, "You've left a complete wreck of your workspace." Harry was actually just decanting the potion. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sorry, I was just in the middle of..." Harry Potter said.

"Do not _whine_." Snape snarled, "It was a simple question, you can answer it so, as well." Snape looked down his long nose at Harry Potter, "And you ought to remember to address me as sir or Professor. I've certainly told you often enough."

"Yeah, sorry." Harry said, scratching the back of his neck as he looked down.

"Sorry, _what_?" Snape said, and Harry practiced a look of dumb incomprehension for several seconds, before a light of realization dawned.

"Sorry, Sir Snape."

"That will be three detentions for your cheek." Snape said, whirling back to his desk.

I can't tell if he really is an absolute, cheerless bastard, or if it's really just all an act.

Harry wasn't especially slow at leaving Potions that day, but he wasn't the first out... and most of the class was headed towards Divination or Muggle Studies. So, as he nearly stepped out of the Potions classroom, he wasn't surprised that Malfoy and Hermione Granger were standing by themselves in the hallway.

No, the wonder was that they were managing to speak, if in only slightly incivil tones.

"You know he's just playing with you, Granger." Malfoy's cultured drawl said.

"Oh? Who would that be?" Hermione Granger said, and Harry didn't need to be looking at her face to see her pointed gaze.

"Snape." Draco drawled, "You can't possibly think he's actually going to give you extra credit."

Harry heard a gentle snort, and pictured Hermione smirking, as she said, "Of course he's scheming," Hermione said cuttingly, "That's what you Slytherins _do_."

"Then why play along, if you're just going to wind up looking the fool?" Draco drawled, "Not that I would mind seeing the Smartest Witch of Her Age fall flat on her face."

Hermione stomped her foot, saying, "It's a simple enough request, Malfoy." And then she took a deep breath (Harry could hear it), "Besides, it's just school. There's a limit to what he can do, isn't there?" And that last sentence was a bit more confrontational than it should have been - than a person would be when it was just a Professor they were talking about.

Snape moved past Harry, his robes leaving a breeze behind, as he strode towards the two arguing students, "I believe you have classes to attend?"

Harry was quickly out of Snape's classroom, before he turned around, even, let alone before Snape returned.

*Did you get how implausible Snape's presence was?

**If only I could fly (from Orm and Cheep)


	11. What was it like?

Draco Malfoy was out of Ancient Runes in record time (by virtue of having put his book away five minutes before...), and went straight to dinner, not bothering to put his books away. He ate quickly, if impeccably (manners had been drilled into his head since he was three, thank you very much, he wasn't to forget them for anything), and headed upstairs.

The Room of Requirement - all you had to do was ask for what you wanted, and then do some pacing about while thinking of it.* So, here Draco Malfoy was, specifying exactly what he wanted to see. Namely, a hidden place for him to eavesdrop - and leaving the rest of the room flexible, so that Granger/Potter could specify what they wanted, as well.

* * *

Harry was, as usual, running late, so when he sprinted down the hall to the Room of Requirement, he wasn't surprised to see Hermione Granger in there, waiting for him. Luckily for him, she didn't look completely focused on wandless casting.

Instead, she looked like she wanted to talk.

Now.

Harry blinked his long eyebrows in what he hoped was a coquettish manner, and asked, "So- how was he? Tell me everything, girl!"

Hermione's jaw dropped open, and acting gay was worth it just for that - it was rare to leave Hermione Granger dumbstruck.

Moments later, she was stomping her foot on the floor, giving Harry Potter a full tackle-hug, gales of laughter streaming out of her, "Of course you'd know! I don't know why I'd imagine you wouldn't!"

Hermione eventually calmed down, dropping her arms and backing up a step, looking down towards the floor. "I want de-tails, Hermione," Harry catcalled.

"He kissed me. It felt... soft. Firm, not gentle, not an air brush." Hermione said, her eyes lost in recalling the moment.

"Um..." Harry said, looking a little weirded out, "We are talking about Malfoy, right?"

Hermione looked up at him, glared, and then nodded. "Yes- Harry James Potter, I am talking about _him_."

"Did he do anything else? Touch you on the shoulder, pull you in by the waist?" Harry asked gently.

"No - just the kiss." Hermione said, starting to look a little bewildered. "It's just... why would he do that?"

_Oh, Hermione_, Harry Potter thought, _you're adorable, but you are so fucking clueless. Thanks a lot, Malfoy._ Harry knew exactly what Malfoy was hoping would happen at this point - Hermione taking things into her own hands, showing Draco Malfoy some sort of sign - but, everyone who wasn't Gryffindor always overestimated Gryffindor courage. And it'd been Malfoy, after all, trying to squelch gossip about it. If he'd wanted to be "for real" out with Hermione... But Harry could see that Malfoy didn't. Malfoy'd decided to indulge himself, and it was coming at the expense of Hermione Granger's sanity. Tentatively, Harry tried to remind himself that a bastard who cared so much for his family couldn't be all _that_ bad... Sadly, such thoughts weren't piquant enough to cut through the rage burning in his belly. _Keep it to yourself, Potter, Hermione needs you laughing, not bloodying Malfoy's nose. Taking it seriously is about the worst option._

"Maybe he was just trying to screw with your mind?" Harry Potter said, with a teasing edge to his voice, "Wanted to see you wracking your brains like this? Bastard's not _worth_ it, Hermione, and you know it."

"Harry-" Hermione said, "You knew this was going to bother me, didn't you?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course." Harry said absentmindedly, "But not _nearly_ as much as it'd bother Ron, if you told him."

Snorting with laughter, Hermione said, "Yeah, that seems like a spectacularly bad idea."

"Look, just don't let it bother you. Malfoy's a dick, we know that, no need to overthink it."

"And what about you and Ginny?" Hermione asked knowingly, "You certainly seemed to be getting along."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, "Gin's Gin, isn't she? A bit strong for me, I think."

"Not too spicy?" Hermione said, her teasing smile sheparding an answering one from Harry's face.

"Never!" Harry Potter laughed, then grinned, and looked at Hermione impishly, "Tag! You're the monkey's uncle!"

* * *

Draco Malfoy watched as Harry Potter cast a spell without even touching his wand. Pushing his jaw upward, he watched as Hermione Granger returned it, her face cackling with glee. _Shite, That was it!_ Draco thought, _They're learning wandless magic. No wonder Granger could only cast when angry._** Draco's mind whirled with the knowledge, trying to slot half a hundred different incidents into the new paradigm.

Un-fortunately, Draco Malfoy was dead certain he wasn't supposed to be watching this. Draco Malfoy knew that the Dark Lord was likely to ask his conception of Potter's fighting strength (in keeping with the years long obsession the Dark Lord had)... and so Draco had thought that he'd just give the Dark Lord what Potter was like during class.

But, this wasn't class. And judging by the skill and power demonstrated in just the last minute or so... The Other Side didn't want this to be bandied about.

Swallowing and preparing to get hexed, Draco Malfoy concentrated on a door in the screen behind which he was hiding.

Without wands, Harry Potter was clearly better at casting than Hermione - only stood to reason, she'd started later, after all. But what Hermione lacked in precision and deftness, she made up for in raw power. Standing anywhere near where Hermione was casting was proving to be a costly endeavor - shields had this nasty tendency to develop cracks - and water or wind or flame penetrated cracks remarkably easily.

Hermione gave a cackling laugh, and Harry somersaulted across the floor, diving to avoid her next wave of magic. As he did so, he envisioned cracks forming under where she was standing. Hermione, not having paid attention to her footing, let out a shriek as she fell a foot deep into the floor. Harry'd have to work on that, a full fathom would be better.

*click*

They had both heard it, and each thought the other was responsible. As one, both rolled sideways (Harry summoning a statue of Dionysius to protect himself, hermione flattened herself like a tapeworm towards the ground), shooting live, electric sparks, that forked like lightning as they sped across the room.

They both caught the flash of blond hair as the door in the wall abruptly slammed, the electricity slamming into the door and leaving woodscars.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other, faces pale. Harry's heart dropped out of his chest with the thought that Draco Malfoy had seen their practice. He could tell that Hermione's pallor was not for the same reason, though - she was undoubtedly concerned that they'd almost - _something_ \- to Malfoy.

Harry stood, wanting to cradle his head in his hands, "You can emerge from your hidey hole, Malfoy."

"Safe Passage?" The blond asked, his drawl nearly lost in the adrenaline.

"Safe Passage." Harry said with a sigh.

"Conditional on Good Behavior." Granger said snottily, because Hermione always had to be right.

Draco Malfoy came out, his hands up, and his sleeves fallen to his elbows - revealing nearly bluewhite skinny arms. Unmarked arms. Harry Potter had his arms crossed, his wand clearly visible. Not that he'd need it to cast, but a threat was blatant only if you made it so. Hermione had her hands on her hips, and nearly growled at Malfoy, "How did you manage to be in here?"

"I was here before you," Draco said smoothly, "Obviously."

"Then why did it conform to our requirements?" Harry bit back, irritated that he hadn't seen this coming. Of course, Malfoy was _likely_ to spy on them - they'd have been better talking in the Common Room. Little chance of being overheard there.

"Because I asked it to." Draco Malfoy said.

"So there is a way around the one person sets the requirements rule!" Hermione gushed.

"Apparently," Malfoy said cooly.

"More importantly," Harry interrupted the conversation with visible impatience, "Why are you here?

"I... " Draco Malfoy said, sounding suddenly uncertain, "Came here to see what you were practicing. Learn something, maybe."

"So, you were just here to spy on us?"

"Nnnn-ooo..." Draco Malfoy said, as if he needed to consider exactly how to put this, "I could use the practice too you know."

"Want to get some hands-on arse-kicking?" Harry said, his cocky grin matching his greenlit eyes.

"You wish, Potter." Draco Malfoy said, straightening from the slouch he had fallen into. "I... I shouldn't have seen this, what you're doing here."

_What_. Harry found himself suddenly at a loss. Of all the things that Malfoy could have said, that would have been around the least likely, at least so Harry'd have said moments before.

Draco Malfoy turned his stormgrey eyes on the two Gryffindors, swallowing almost convulsively, and saying, "I'm going to need you to Obliviate me."

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter stood silently still, their mouths hanging open. Of all the possible paths Draco Malfoy could have taken out of a situation where he was spying on them, this wasn't in the handbook. It was so far from being in the handbook that it might as well have been on red Mars. They were both too busy studying him to look at each other.

"If I'd known this was all it took to strike you dumb, I'd have mentioned it earlier." Draco drawled, and Harry mentally filled in the substance behind the lie - Draco was uncomfortable with them staring at him like that (tough luck, bucko), even if he was slightly enjoying having the Gryffindors at a loss for words. He'd certainly never have suggested this unless it was important - critical even.

"What drew you to that conclusion?" Harry asked, wanting to pace around Draco Malfoy - his response to a probe like that would tell Harry a lot.

...

And because this was a very flexible configuration of the Room of Requirement, Harry's wish became reality. Of course, then he had to actually ask himself if he really wanted to be that much of an arse, just to get some information. Malfoy could be a cipher if he wanted, Harry was dead certain, but Harry figured that when you were on the business end of two highly powered magic users, that might not be the best time for going all blank. With luck, Malfoy would figure that out too.

Besides, he could always pace a bit later. If, say, Malfoy was proving uncooperative.

Draco finally started talking, and Harry mentally chided himself for falling into a "thinking space" - that was dangerous when you were around enemies. And Draco Malfoy certainly didn't count as a friend. Or an ally, or anything practical and helpful. "He's going to want me to report. On you." Draco said, shifting uncomfortably, and then abruptly halting, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I can learn some of what you can do from the Study Group."

Draco took a swift pace forward, gesturing at the two on-edge Gryffindors. "But this?" Draco ran his hand through his hair, and said, "This is serious. This is the sort of thing that you don't want Him knowing about, ever."

Harry knew Draco's analysis was right, but before he could say something, Hermione's narrowed brown eyes found Draco's. "Whose side are you on?"

"My own, of course." Draco Malfoy drawled.

"Seems a bit self-serving." Harry challenged, more curious to see what Malfoy might say than anything else.

"Just because I haven't found something worth _dying_ for, Potter..." Draco Malfoy said with a snap.

"Are you not going to serve Voldemort?" Hermione said.

"I'm going to do whatever gives me the best chance of surviving." Draco Malfoy drawled, implacably calm. Harry thought, _Well, you and your family, right? Not quite so self-serving then, is it?_

"That's a no on defecting, then, is it?" Harry Potter asked, surprised at how honey soft his own voice was.

Draco nodded. "Now, about that obliviation... Should I close my eyes?"

In a voice soft as a falling leaf, Hermione Granger said, "What makes you think we know that spell?"

Harry exchanged a brief glance with Hermione, their firm nods telling each other that _no, they hadn't learnt it the summer before_.

Hermione Granger continued, "No, we're not going to do this ourselves. You are right, that it does need to be done, but..."

Harry spoke up, trying to sound firm and blunt, "As often as I ask for help, I think in this case we'd better." Hermione nodded.

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes, seeming to say that he'd already used up all humility in asking for this... option.

Harry looked at Hermione, who looked right back at him. They nodded in synch and said, "Dumbledore."

Draco Malfoy started to look squirrely at the mention of Dumbledore's name. "Um... Do... Really?" He managed to squawk out, his inarticulateness a sharp contrast from his normal command of the English language.

"Surely the Headmaster of Hogwarts has your confidence in casting a spell to remove your memories?" Harry Potter said sharply, letting his whims guide him into teasing Draco a bit.

"Of course, Potter, of course." Draco Malfoy said absently, his mind still clearly on whatever was bothering him.

Hermione chimed in, "You'd say that he has an obligation for any pupils under his care, and moreso to one of the Prefect-like entities, wouldn't you?" Hermione blinked a moment, and before Draco could actually respond, she was asking, "What ARE you calling each other, anyway?"

Draco Malfoy said, quickly, "Back to front. I don't know, I haven't really bothered naming them, so someone else's done it. I suppose he does have an obligation at that." Draco shoved his hands into his pockets, abruptly looking a bit frustrated. "I can't have anyone knowing I met with Dumbledore - not for any reason."

Harry Potter nods, "Say, we could keep that to ourselves - then?"

"I'd do it."

"Hermione, can you get the Headmaster?" Harry directed, and caught the quick, frustrated look on her face, as well as the trace of warning (she wasn't going to be too happy if Dumbledore arrived and Draco was completely busted.). _Well and good_, Harry thought _I'd rather not give you some alone time with Malfoy, not today. One of you might get killed. or die happy, whichever._

Hermione left quickly, and Harry and Draco were left standing ... nearly together. Neither of them seemed to want to say a word, and Harry Poter luxioriated in the silence, that he'd only recently discovered he'd missed. For the twenty minutes that it took for Hermione to make it to the headmaster's office, and make it back (undoubtedly via a shortcut), they managed to not say one word to each other. Instead, they cast, softly and determinedly creating new forms and transmogrifying them into other things.

"Thank you, Miss Granger." Albus Dumbledore says, entering the Room of Requirement. "Well, I must admit, Mister Malfoy, that you have found a most fascinating exploit."

Draco Malfoy merely looked at Dumbledore, his emotions locked firmly beneath an icy mask.

"Mister Potter? If you might join Miss Granger in the hall, if I'm not mistaken, Mister Malfoy would appreciate a private word with me."

"You're not mistaken." Draco says, his voice sounding more brittle than his usual drawl.

Harry Potter brutally curbed his desire to stay, drawing his reins on himself until he felt sure he was drawing blood. "I'll just go then." He said stiffly.

* * *

"Should we try for a whisper?" Hermione said, conjuring a waterglass.

Harry frowned, considering, and then said, "Should be fine - if they didn't want us to listen, they'd have warded against it. Why don't you listen, and I'll keep watch?"

Roughly three minutes later, Hermione straightened, and said, "They'll be done soon. He's casting now."

"We should be down at the other end of the hall, heading downstairs as they emerge." Harry responded, well used to creating the illusion of good behavior.

Draco Malfoy didn't emerge from the Room with Albus Dumbledore. At their inquiring look, the fuschia clad old man said, "He's resting, and should wake shortly. Memory is a difficult thing to play with at the best of times." Dumbledore briefly looked stern, which was a strange look on his face. "I should be off, the sugar lemons are due to be decanted shortly - Unless you have anything else to detain me?"

"No, sir." Hermione said, and turned to descend the stairs behind the headmaster.

Harry grabbed her hand, holding on insistently as he stood there. Hermione looked back at him, questioningly, and Harry responded by pursing his lips, nodding down towards the stairwell. "Not tho fast," Harry says, in a voice that's softer than a whisper.

They turn and walk back towards the room of requirement, Hermione nearly bouncing with impatience. "Let me lead," Harry says curtly. _I hope I can pull this off..._

"Well, well, well, Mister Malfoy, how in the world did you manage to knock yourself unconscious, alone, in the Room of Requirement? Did you ask for a clop to the head?" Harry grins, and Hermione almost wants to shiver, that grin looks like Sirius' - happily malevolent.

Malfoy, still on the ground, if more wakeful now, sits up and says, "I... I don't remember. Why don't I remember?"

"Oh, now that's cute, now he says he doesn't remember." Harry says, clearly working the crowd of one (Hermione).

"Did you do something, Potter? Is ... is that why?" Malfoy, ever suspicious, looks baffledly into Potter's green eyes.

"You look like you could use some help, Malfoy." Harry Potter said, "So how about it?"

Malfoy blinked. And then blinked again. "You're offering to help me?"

"Appears so," Harry said, sinking his hands into his pockets, acting oblivious to the rather concerned glare that Hermione was shooting at him.

"I'd... I'd like that, yeah." Draco Malfoy looked completely offbalance, a bit baffled and troubled at the same time. It was a decent look for the bloke, honestly - far better than I know everything and You suck.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays then, except if we've got DA, obviously. After dinner." Harry said, and at that point, Hermione's hand attached itself firmly to his elbow, and began to drag him out the room.

"Until then," Harry said grinning, walking just as fast as Hermione.

Of course, heading outside the Room, they found other people walking the corridor. Certainly not the place to have a nice long chat.

Cursing under her breath, Hermione turned round and opened the Room again, mentally surrounding Draco Malfoy (still seated on the ground looking bleary) with a box of liquid, rushing water. "What was THAT, Harry Potter? How do you expect us to study if he's here? You know - dammit, even he knows, we can't work with him here."

Harry lays a cocky grin on his best friend, saying, "That won't be as much of a problem as you think. He won't be able to always make it, you know."

"And HOW do you know that?" Hermione said.

"Looked at his badge recently?" Harry responded. "Eagles like that come with responsibility." Harry says, neatly dodging the question. "Besides, we needed to figure out SOME way to prevent him from doing this Every Single Time."

Hermione looked at Harry, and then muttered, "I didn't even think of that."

It was Tuesday evening, and Harry Potter was well away from both Malfoy and Hermione. In fact, he was sitting on his bed, idly paging through a Quiddich manual - one of Ollie's own creation. Wood had always cared too much about the game. Harry idly supposed that Quiddich tryouts would be the next weekend.

No, what he was really thinking about was an old adage - "fish who stop swimming die."

It was _killing_ him, the uncertainty - the crazy, _half-mad_ urge to ask Slytherins, "What the hell are you _doing_? What are you planning? What are your goals?" Harry didn't need to think that last one about Snape, he supposed, as his goals seemed well-contained. Malfoy was another story.

Asking him would be akin to waving a red flag and saying "I NOTICED! I Noticed Already!" Draco Malfoy couldn't help but respond to that with smug superiority. Certainly, Harry'd never get an answer to his question.

And, yet, even as he thought of all this, that adage kept leaping into his mind. It urged him to a Gryffindor's reckless action, to precipitous change. The Tower - rocks fall, everything dies.

He wanted to pace, to swoop on his broom. Too late, too late - he'd just get caught, and did he really want detention for something like that.

Let the steam out, just like a teakettle. Move, yes, but move like a small fish, peeking out of the coral, and then ducking back inside.

Well, that was a great idea in theory, but in practice?

Snape... whatever else Snape was up to (Draco was right, he was undoubtedly up to more with Granger's assignment than just the bare facts would warrant), he wanted everyone to think clearly about war. Harry had his class tomorrow. How to do it? Maybe...

"Hey, Neville," Harry asked, sticking his head out from the draperies (unreasonably glad that Ron wasn't there - he'd have bollixed up the whole operation.) "Does your grandma ever talk about the war? What it was like?"

Neville looked up from an advanced Herbology textbook. "Oh! Well, Harry, she doesn't, not really. She just gets this sad look on her face, sorta grim and dour, and shuts up. I figure a lot of warriors are like that - people on the front lines."

"You think-" Harry said, breaking off, "You think _Snape_ knows?"

"Of course he does, he's certainly not the man to miss a battle. Bloodless like a vampire bat, but not the type to turn away from an opportunity to loose that anger."

"Think he'd tell you what it was like, if you asked?"

"That'd be the day... why don't you just ask him yourself?"

"Because I don't want detention. Look, why not try it tommorrow in class. He's more likely to take off points and less likely to give detentions."

"Ha-ary, I don't want everyone glaring at _me_ because I got told off in class."

"Tell 'em I dared you. Then, when they find me, I'll tell them how I got the points... back."

"Back? How will you do that?"

"Flitwick's an easy mark, I'll try him first." Harry could only hope that he was doing the right things here. If there was any bright side to all of this, it was that he wasn't trying to keep any of this secret. Not really.

Harry was starting to get used to, or maybe even actually _like_ this feeling of suppressed anticipation, like pins and needles walking all over your feet. It was an odd sensation, and one that he didn't want anyone noticing that he was feeling. So, Harry Potter sat in the same place he always sat at the Gryffindor table, and tried not to think if Malfoy would have called it "holding court" - he had a feeling that Snape _would_ call it so, and from his mouth the words would be bilious indeed. He laughed at Ron's jokes, which, though overused, were often still funny. The joke about Hermione's reading at the breakfast table had been old in his second year, for crying out loud. "You'd be reading too, if only there were more books on Quiddich." Harry put in, to Hermione's sparkling laughter. Ron flushed, but hung his head for a moment before laughing along. That was the thing about Ron Weasley. He was always trying. Didn't often succeed, at least not completely - but on anything that wasn't schoolwork, he was always determined. And, like a stone, would eventually find his way to the proper road, bouncing left and right, but always heading downward. Hermione tended to work like an avalanche, whisking things from far away into her mind, stirring them up, and landing flat on anyone so foolish as to stand in her way.

Harry was rarely that foolish.

Harry grabbed an extra portion of bacon - just seconds before Ron thought to, and was about to put it down on his plate, when he saw something unexpected. Creamed spinach. Well, Harry thought, I suppose I haven't tried it before... Setting the bacon down, he stuck his fork in it. Wow, this was surprisingly tasty! Why hadn't he tried this before? And, just like that, Harry was pulling the whole thing into a metaphor for his life. He'd gotten so used to doing things Just So when he was at the Dursleys - to being punished for any creativity.

Well, he was here, at Hogwarts. And it wouldn't kill him to try more things.

With a mental note to thank Dobby for the spinach, Harry trundled off to his Wednesday class with Snape - he knew he was running early, so he let his feet take him where they willed, knowing that eventually he'd end up at the classroom.

Well, Harry Potter had tried to do his homework. But he hadn't used ten stinging hexes, and so he was kinda stuck. As a bit of a compromise, he had written a few other notations - some on other people's hexes, and - in a carefully detachable page, some notations on some work that he'd done outside of class. He was able to determine how quickly he could spell, and aim, and react to moving objects. As these were three different numbers, it was certainly an interesting exercise, particularly since they weren't separable variables. He'd done... enough. Or, if he hadn't done enough, it would probably be for reasons other than diligence. Lack of forethought, lack of planning, lack of creativity, perhaps? Well, something. Perhaps just marked favoritism towards the Slytherins and against the Gryffindors. And, man, it felt weird thinking that about Snape, after the summer he'd put Harry Potter through. Which was not to say that it was easy - it was grueling and punishing work. But that was the thing of it - it hadn't been about tearing him down _at all_.

Still, they were at school now, and a certain level of conduct was expected. If Harry were to deviate too far from expected, that might be something that more than just Hogwarts noticed. And like it or not, there were people on all levels watching him. Harry was used to this, however, even as he struggled against it. There were more than one reason why he'd been overusing the invisibility cloak, after all. (A far more cautious (or slightly more paranoid) person would have made certain that Snape never learned of it, for that matter).

"Place your homework in the bin." Snape said coldly, as he entered, the doors slamming shut behind him. "As you have all been marked as failing the first two assignments, I do hope you've managed to do this one perfectly. If you have, you will have achieved a 33% grade. Far short of passing, but still - better than all zeros." Around the room, a muttering took up, started by Gryffindors (like Ron) who clearly hadn't done the assignment well, and felt they were being shorted. It was picked up by the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs wanted to complain because they thought this wasn't really defense.

"Well? Does anyone have any objections to my teaching this class?" Snape snarled. "Put Your Homework in the Bin." Harry had been working his way through the crowd, and tried to ignore that the bin looked like a wastepaper basket.

Neville had already gotten his paper into the basket, and stood near Snape, trying (and failing) to look him in the eye. "Sir?"

Snape didn't speak, he merely looked down his long nose at Neville. But there was something in the openness of the gesture that encouraged Neville to say something. "Can you tell us what it was like in the first war? Since you were there?"

Snape's eyes flicked up, meeting Harry's _instantly_. Shite, he _knows_ it was me.

Smirking softly, Snape said, "I do believe I shall," his voice like molasses, slow and bitter and black.

Snape looked at Neville Longbottom, and then his gaze wandered over the rest of the class. When he at last uttered a word, it sounded like the creaking of a door. "I'll speak first to glory, for those of you who haven't known relations grieving tears over the fallen. You'll find no glory in war, stepping on another child's entrails, or by deceit or cunning killing someone stronger than you. No, at the end of the day, war gives you just broken bodies and broken minds. You'd think it was just the dead, their bloating bodies stinking as they inflate with rot. No, no one who's been through war survives unscathed. There's no one who drapes themselves in conspicuous glory and smiles. War is real, children, and in real war, people die. Your friends, your enemies, people you never knew. Imagine that - with one breath, killing a nameless someone. You didn't even have the common decency to learn their name." The derision in his tone, the venom, dripped and sizzled like acid - and yet, Harry realized that it was more turned towards himself than truly at any of their peers. Harry felt, deep in his heart, that Snape had never been one to turn to killing for glory... which meant that his anger-turned-inward was about something else entirely.

"Oh, the thrill of battle? A brief surge of happiness?" Snape's frosted laughter poured out of him. "Sure, you'll find those in abundance. Some even get addicted to those things - we call them Aurors."

Nobody laughed at Snape's dry wit, and after a moment, he continued, his voice like crisp autumn leaves rustling on the ground, "As to vengeance? Take a moment and think first. When the wails of your womenfolk pull at your heartstrings, _stop_. " It almost seemed like the classroom wasn't breathing. In fact, judging by a few changing complexions, some really weren't. "Are you so cruel as to do to another family what has been done to yours? Vengeance never saved anything. It just destroys. A corrosive force, that eats away at people. Avoid it, if you can." Snape's lip lifted in a brief sneer. "I can see you out there, you know. The Hufflepuffs in particular - tutting to yourself about how you'd never be so stupid!" Snape strode over to them, and a few shrunk back, which made Harry feel suddenly uncomfortable - although he made a mental note of who they were. "Bones, get up here." Snape snapped, despite only being a few feet from her.

"Yes sir." she said, walking up to him.

"Face your house." Snape said, and Harry realized that the entirety of their years' Hufflepuffs were together. So much for unity, Harry thought wryly, a work in progress. Snape brought the business end of his wand up to Bones's neck. "If I killed her right now, what would you do?" Hufflepuffs shuffled their feet uneasily, and Harry saw that by pulling the niece of the MLE department head, he'd neatly removed the "Go To The Ministry" option.

"We'd make you pay." Ernie said, his characteristic grin completely wiped off his face.

"And aren't those words so easy to say, don't they sound so right?" Snape said, his voice turning into that lilting tone he often used during Potions class, coaxing the class to attention rather than demanding it like McGonagall did. "I'll tell you once, and I'll tell you true. It's far easier to say than do." Harry heard the musicality in the words, and hoped - rather irrationally, he figured - that Snape wasn't casting something hideous on Ernie. Surely, he wouldn't...?

"But far worse than the doing, children, is the stopping. Ever pounded a person's face bloody?" Snape snapped. "Malfoy, Potter, get up here. Both of you have pounded the other's face bloody - or worse."

Harry swallowed, his mouth drying up. His lips thinned, and he stalked forward, with fists at his side so tight they might draw blood. His eyes screamed defiance at Snape.

Malfoy, in contrast, slid forward like a snake, appearing before his mentor with only the slightest twitch of his errant pinkie to suggest that he was anything other than pleased to be called to answer questions.

Snape turned his head, cocking it a little, as he looked at the two "enemies", studying them intently. "When did you know to stop?"

Both Malfoy and Harry Potter were silent, Harry because, he was belatedly realizing, he'd often not been able to stop - there'd been people pulling him off Malfoy, as often as not. He'd... he'd never actually wanted to kill Malfoy, not really for truth dead (smashed up and sent to the infirmary for a month, sure). Snape was right, he really _did_ have an anger problem.

"As neither of you are dead, surely this must have come up at some point?"

"I heard your boots, sir, and I knew that you'd look most unfavorably if I cast such dishonor on my house as to have killed a fellow pupil." Malfoy said, smiling ingratiatingly.

"While it is true that the Honor of House Slytherin would have been most unforgivably sullied by such a deed, have you never stopped to think what harm you do your House by squabbling like a street rat?"

Draco Malfoy's eyes went wide. Harry saw, because he was watching intently, but he figured most of the class didn't, as they weren't watching. That - that looked like it struck home. At the very least, it meant something.

"Same here, Snape. Without you approaching, it might have ended... badly." Harry Potter said, putting enough effort into not calling Snape sir, as that would be out of character.

"Detention, Potter, for your cheek." Snape said, his voice flowing like molasses, the rest of his face impassive.

"Weasley," Snape snapped, his sharp eyes pinning Ron - who as usual was at the edge of the room, near a wall. Mostly to look inattentive, even if Ron was working hard he'd be trying to look inattentive, that was just his way. He didn't want to be called on, either.

"Yeah?" Ron responded, his face fighting to flush.

"How'd you know when to stop?" Snape asked. Ron simply boggled at him, looking at him as if he'd just asked a question that couldn't be answered, not just shouldn't. "With Your _Brothers_. I'm certain the Weasley Twins have, at one time or another, _crossed the line_."

"They're my brothers! I couldn't kill them - not ever! I wouldn't even try! I love them, sir, even when they're being pains in the neck!" Weasley said, his voice half stuttering, half vehement.

"Ah, the power of love. Enough to stop one from committing fratricide." Snape said, his voice dry and crinkly. "It's far harder to stop when you've been holding your dear sister, reassuring her that her husband's killer is going to Get What's Coming to him."

"These two lunkheads," Snape's eyes raked over Draco and Harry, "Used fists, primarily. Wise, in a school of magic, not to get caught slinging spells in the halls." Snape's eyes were bright and glaring, as his lips pursed just slightly as his inky gaze struck Harry's eyes. Harry could feel himself flushing as he remembered how many times his wand had been drawn. Not that he'd really, _usually_, been about to strike...

"On the battlefield, I assume you will all be wise enough to use your wands, instead of your fists." Snape said, and Harry hid a smirk by compressing his lips and glaring at Snape. Snape was the one, after all, who had taught him a crash course in muggle self-defense - granted, Harry thought, he meant "crash" literally, as the first thing he had needed to learn was "how to fall" and that was taught without instruction (though, thankfully, with healing, or it'd have taken much longer).

"Using your wands, it is the work of ten seconds to kill someone. That rage one Hufflepuff might feel? The "I'll get you back for that"? It's easy to go too far." Snape said, turning around abruptly, looking at the rest of the class. "Oh, so very easy." he dragged these words out, as if he was smoking a cigarette, to use the muggle metaphor.

"What's war like? Blood, death, pain. But those are easy words to say, and they don't tell you about the vomit. They don't tell you about the dead who shat themselves. The dead half-eaten that you pull out later, and can't even recognize who they were. The undead, the ghosts, the people who can't leave until... And sometimes, that until never comes. Would anyone here be surprised to know that there's a ghost who yearns for the demise of Bellatrix Black Lestrange?" Snape's eyes cast over the room, "I thought not."

Snape's eyes found Hermione next, and he stalked towards her as he spoke. As he did, Harry Potter felt dread upwelling in his body, and he tried to look - well, just look angry. "Some people delude themselves into thinking they can find justice in war." Hermione had her chin tilted up, that defiant gleam in her eyes. This was not good.

"Miss Granger, do you still hold that all crimes ought to be prosecuted with a fair trial?" Snape said, and Harry's brow furrowed, slightly unsure where Snape was headed with this line.

"I do, sir." Hermione responded crisply.

"Then you'll concede that war crimes cannot be prosecuted in the midst of a battle, or a full-scale war?"

"I will indeed, sir."

"Then I shall tell you, as I've told others, that there can be no justice on the battlefield. There are some that will tell you you fight for Right, or Justice or Good. They're all liars."

"Even you, Miss Granger, will tell me that the ending of the last war went poorly, will you not? Were not notable and significant figures denied trials of any stripe?"

"Yes, of course, sir." Hermione said crisply. She was responding as if she was a buck private and her sergeant was talking with her. But Snape? Snape was arguing, and Harry wanted to hiss at her, tell her to watch her words, choose them with care.

"Then you'll agree that we can do better." Snape said, smiling cruely, "Provided the sensible side wins, of course."

"You, Miss Granger, probably think that you're fighting for Justice, or Righteousness, or even Self-righteousness, in some sort of self-aggrandizing fashion." Snape said crisply. Along one of the walls, some Slytherins snickered.

"But, is it not more accurate to say that you're fighting for survival?" Snape said smoothly, his drawl pronounced.

"You could say that sir." Hermione Granger said, squaring her shoulders, "Of course, I'd say it's unjust to deny anyone magical schooling."

"Yes, and were you to argue that before the Wizengamot, rather than taking up wands, you might have a point, and sway many to your side." Snape drawled.

"As it is, I ask that you, and everyone else around here dash any hopes that they might fight for Truth, Justice, or Righteousness." Snape's tarry eyes met everyone in the room, slowly. "War makes monsters of us all. I'm not the only one who's killed some mother's only child. Ask your parents, your uncles, your aunts. Yes, even the Muggleborn. Do." Snape paused, and then sliced into the meat, "You simply cannot be as you are now, in war. You must think of the Other as monsters, as foul and loathsome beasts - as the Enemy. That changes you. I cannot predict which of you will commit war crimes, some in the heat of the moment, and others with cold and callous cruelty. But your youth will not save you."

"Which leaves us at fighting for survival." Snape said, "Both sides will tell you that is what they are trying for, and both sides are to some degree right. Oh, some might be fighting for power, on the sole strength of their ambition - but not most."

Snape paused, and looked the class over, "If you think you'll be fighting for survival, then it only makes sense to choose the _sensible_ choice." Harry's eyes had gone wide at this, and he swiftly started looking at the floor, until he couldn't take it anymore and was looking (glaring) at Snape's traitorous face. That sneaky, two-timing Slytherin Snake! He'd laid into Hermione on purpose, using her muggleborn status to make his point for him. That purebloods and half-bloods didn't need to fight to save girls like her. "Leave the Justice until after the war. First peace, and then justice." Snape snorted, "Really, there's _no other way_." No way, Harry thought, he nearly just said that everyone should join Voldemort. And... Harry's gaze raked the room, seeing mostly approval from the purebloods (the ones that weren't counted blood traitors at any rate), and mostly... pacificity from the others. Well, Harry thought, at least Snape was covert enough that the entire school doesn't think he's a Death Eater. Just... the pureblood supremacists.

Harry Potter knew that Snape had to do this, it was important for his cover (and may be important for other things, Harry thought somberly). But, in truth, Harry hated it. It felt... wrong, to lie about something so basic. The basic right of people to live their lives as they wanted. A frisson of understanding wracked Harry's body, a full body shiver. Snape wanted his freedom, didn't he? He'd be the last person to truly believe something like this... So...why had he joined the Death Eaters?

"Perhaps the best, the least selfish thing to fight for is someone else. Be it your lover, your child, your parents." Severus Snape said, his voice marginally warmer, like an icy lake just starting to melt. "And yet that will not absolve you from your crimes, from the murders you commit."

Children were looking understandably nervous at this, shuffling around - still spellbound, but - questioning. Harry Potter wanted to smirk - for wasn't that a teacher's real job? To make people question their foundations, to build and build again until they are sound?

"Nor can protection tell you which side to serve, as surely there are people on the other side who also are merely in it to prevent certain people's deaths." Snape sneered, "Unless you are truly callous, cruel or deluded, you cannot say that one person's life is worth less or more than another."

"How much is a life worth, Professor?" Harry asked, not even sure why he was asking the question, nor precisely sure what the question was. However, Harry, unlike Hermione, had learned to trust his instincts. He tried to look as impassively curious as Snape, even as said Snape cast him a withering glare.

"I suppose that depends..." Snape said, stalking closer, "You can always measure the worth of a slave, can you not? Free Market, what someone is willing to pay?"

"Or you could measure them based on their contributions. Patents, their pay from the Ministry." That was Zach Smith, unwisely speaking up, as if this was truly a discussion, rather than a lecture.

"Indeed." Snape said. "That draws us far from the topic at hand, however."

Snape looked at Neville, who met his gaze stoutly. "You wanted to know what war is? War is the closest thing to Gehenna that you'll ever meet. War is where people lose their souls, their conscience, even their abilities. War will crush you, if you let it - and sometimes even without. Your parents aren't the only people who haven't emerged from the last war." Snape's mouth curved into a smirk that was a brutal parody of a smile. "Try letting a firework loose in Hogsmeade sometime... but be ready to run, as you'll have half a dozen hexes before you can say Expelliarmus." Snape said coldly, "War isn't something you leave behind, not really. Some people bury it - others, like Moody, build it into themselves." If Harry had to bet, that was what Snape had done - he was too smooth to actually seem on edge, but there was this quicksilver alertness to him, that never seemed to go away.

"If you want to know what war is, I suggest you ask our Mediwitch. She will take you through the grades of battlefield triage." Snape said, "I will defer to her tutelage and experience, but - as I know from past experience, not all of you will talk with her -" Snape looked around the room, finding eyes and glaring until they turned earthwards. Harry didn't recognize the eyes, so he figured it was probably something Slytherin related. Did the Slytherins have some method for avoiding the Mediwitch? How Harry would have loved to know that first year... or second... or third...

"Normal triage, as is practiced at St. Mungos, is saving the person who is hurt worst. When someone is bleeding out, nearly everything stops so that they can fix them." Snape nods slowly, "This is the normal way healers work, the way Mediwitch Pomfrey will behave if there's a Quiddich injury, or something else of that severity. Or even, as there has been, a brief skirmish, such as what happened at the World Cup."

"In war, everything changes." Snape snarls, "The person least injured gets healed first - as they can be back fighting the quickest. Mediwitch Pomfrey has let hundreds, if not thousands of people die under her care." Snape shakes his head his hair getting into his face, before being swept out by an annoyed hand. "This is the true perversity of war - that it can distort even the gentlest - the healing arts themselves!"

The words rung into the silent room, as Snape's inky eyes cast a dark shadow over everyone in turn, his lanky body slowly spinning on his heel, as his eyes caught the gaze of every student in the room.

Snape collected himself, "Please don't ask Prof. Tonks the same question - she wasn't there." Snape's eyes pinned a random Hufflepuff, and he said strictly, "Now as to the actual coursework. It would appear that some of you need a refresher on shields, as your dodging ability last class was dire indeed. Pair up, and start casting. Stinging Hexes verses Protego, to start. You may vary both spells if you can reliably (that's three times) cast both."

And they got to work. Harry wound up paired with Ernie, who was a decent, if not inspired, combat mage. As such, he was still having trouble with the shield, particularly the timing. Harry didn't try to give instruction, just narrowed his eyes a bit and thought about it. He could always give instruction later in the DA. For now, it was Snape's classroom - and there's the man himself, Harry thought, as he tugged Ernie aside (away from Harry's quick-cast Stinging Hex), looking down at the boy and conveying details. As Snape stalked off, Harry started casting again, and Ernie's timing did seem to be improving... marginally, but the more he worked on it, the better he got.

Harry Potter found both his ring fingers tingling, and a suspicious swathe of his flank, and another small smidge just above his kidney. Still, he was grinning as Snape announced the homework assignment, "Select one of the three classic modifications to the shield spell, and be ready to demonstrate in front of the class. Also, that will be nine inches on all three modifications. Miss Granger, to be perfectly clear, that does not mean 27 inches total." Snape said, and Harry covered his mouth, as he didnt' want to audibly snicker at Hermione's usual overwriting being pointed out quite so clearly.

* * *

Harry slung himself into the shower with vehemence, washing off the sweat, all too aware that he'd be attending dinner in less than twenty minutes. And after that... More Defense. Well, the bonus was that Snape would probably not be there. (and if he was, he'd be refraining from commentary, which was the point of his absence as far as Harry was concerned). Harry tossed on his clothes, tried momentarily to flatten any wrinkles (they were myriad), and then he plummeted out the door, down the stairs, and raced for the Great Hall. Yes, he realized he wasn't supposed to be running, but he also realized that Snape detentions (even for imagined slights) were expected, and even desirable. Harry Potter somehow didn't want another detention for breathing. He'd rather have done _something_ to deserve it.

"Mister Potter. That will be three detentions, for running, out of control conduct, and breaking the school dress code." Snape snarled, as he swiftly sidestepped the "speeding bullet" that was Harry Potter.

Harry wheeled on Snape, spitting out a cutting, "yes sir."

"Oi, mate, if you've got time..." Ron said, and Harry just looked at him. That wasn't like ron, not at all. Ron was the type to just dragoon Harry into doing something, not... not ask.

"Whatcha need?" Harry asked, trying for casual and hoping he wasn't failing utterly.

"Not now, later. Maybe... after curfew." Ron said, trying not to shift in his seat.

"What are you planning?" Harry whispered, careful to avoid s's as they carried.

"Nothing, not yet. After curfew, eh?" Ron said, with that genuine smile of his, and Harry could finally relax. Whatever was going on, Ron was still (mostly) acting like Ron. So, it was probably something Interesting. Harry had discovered he rather liked interesting when it didn't involve him putting his life on the line every five seconds.

*Nobody's quite told Draco how the room works, but he's a fair eavesdropper.

**Not strictly true, but close enough.

[a/n: Won't somebody leave a review?]


	12. Slytherins laugh last

Harry wasn't the first one into the Room of Requirement, nor was he the last. No, for once, he came in nearly precisely in the middle. Which left him standing, offbalance, as he evaluated the groupings. The Slytherins still seemed closed off, for the most part (It wasn't his to fix, he chided, knowing that he'd think about it anyway, because he couldn't help but think about it.). Blaise Zambini seemed to be making it his mission to be as open as all the other Sytherins were losed, his teasing smile a sharp contrast to Notta nd Malfoy's blankfaced stares. Harry didn't know how they managed to do anything BUT play poker, with faces like that! Maybe he should ask...

Hermione Granger bustled in, half a dozne papers flapping under her arm - and Ron Weasley had a few more. Scratch that, was that Lavender Brown, scowling at them? Jealous easy, much?

The Hufflepuffs entered in two groups - the girls strangely not giggling. And when the Hufflepuff girls weren't giggling, they had this stout set to their jaws, one that said, "I know who you are. And I'm not impressed." It kind of made Harry want to stand up straight.

Zach entered with the Hufflepuff men, his boasting voice cascading round the entire room.

Harry Potter, for all that ol' Snape often accused him of grandiosity, really disliked the boastfulness of the Hufflepuff. If Zach's pride hadn't gotten him the job of minding the whole show, Harry Potter would have been even more incensed with it.

Even so, he didn't particularly want to hear it, and sen this gaze casting elsewhere. The Gryffindors, aside from Hermione an Ron, were gathered together, talking and spinning tales. Harry's eyes moved past, finding the Ravenclaws (undoubtedly the first ones here), not grouped together, but in various places around the room. And with half a dozen different books. Harry'd often wondered why anyone else did a single thing toward running this club - wouldn't the -? Ah, no, Harry thought looking at Davies - A ravenclaw can generally outread any of the other houses, but that doesn't mean they've always practiced what they've read.

Harry'd seen that in action last year, of course, and he planned to help keep the Ravenclaws focused on the practical this year.

The Slytherins were spread out too, in a loose sort of cluster - the kind that was more difficult to actually hit, that that near huddle-hug the Gryffindors were in.

As a matter of fact, that gave Harry an idea...

"Alright, anyone needs more practice with the Patronus charm, come with me." Hannah said, with a firmness in her voice that it generally lacked. Most of the Slytherins strode along with her, as she paced towards a boxlike room, perfect for practicing defense. Harry followed most of the Slytherins, glad that no one was looking back towards him. He was even more glad that Hermione and Ron weren't here - in fact, there wasn't a single Gryffindor, and the two younger Hufflepuffs were looking strangely sure of themselves.

"Has anyone managed a corporeal patronus?" Hannah asked, and Harry raised his hand, along with a single Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuffs. "Not to worry, if you can conjure anything at all, you'll get it in time."

"For now, let's see how you've done." Hannah said, starting to cast herself. Her Patronus leapt into the air, a swan in flight - and Harry remembered exactly how mean the swans could be, ducking gently out of the way when it seemed like it might try going through him.

Harry concentrated, himself, finding the memory of lunging for the snitch, of it floating just out of reach... right on top of Malfoy's head. "Expecto Patronum," He whispered, and saw the shimmering silver curtain- a half cast spell fit for the half-happy memory. Harry wondered if he put just a bit more happiness into it, what form the Patronus would take. Probably something avian, he thought to himself.

Harry's example got the Slytherins working, and he saw Pansy Parkinson casting the charm, nearly shrieking it in that ear-grating tone she had when she was furious at something. And yet, despite sounding more furious than happy, there was a glittering cloud of silver.

Goyle was next, his casting slow and calm - running like golden syrup, smooth and ... somehow elegantly _solid_. Like the grace of a plough horse stepping out, as if it was pulling a beer truck.

Daphne Greengrass and her sister cast next, and theirs together didn't hold a candle to the other two. But still, they had a flicker. Harry's eyes studied them, noting how they looked at each other. Perhaps... a bit of physical contact? Maybe... it wouldn't hurt.

Vincent Crabbe didn't even have that much to show for himself, he mangled the spell, and tried again, and mangled it again.

"Let me try," Draco Malfoy ordered, stepping in front of the lunkier boy. "Expecto Patronum." Draco Malfoy intoned, his voice crisp and clear, as if he'd decided that today, he'd order magic around, and it would obey, simply because Draco Malfoy hadn't even the concept that it _wouldn't_. Harry Potter found himself wondering how much of that was just crafted pretense, and how much was self-fulfilling prophecy. As far as he knew (which, admittedly, wasn't much), Malfoy had stepped onto the Hogwarts Express wanting for nothing except opposition. Hmph. What do you give the person who's got everything? An opponent. Harry rather vaguely had the idea that Malfoy would enjoy the joke, if only it wasn't Harry Potter telling it.

Draco Malfoy's curtain of silver was man high, and wider than Crabbe. Goyle's in contrast, was small, but surprisingly scintillating. It had the look of rain falling through sunlight, all sparks and flashes.*

"Beautiful..." Harry said, in a voice soft as a whisper. Goyle nodded slightly, before letting the spell dissipate, leaving Harry with the uncertain knowledge that Goyle'd heard him.

"Expecto Patronum!" Blaise said with a flair, and his patronus seemed like it was trapped in the sliver wall, half emerging, half fading behind it.

"You're doing great!" Hannah said, looking at Blaise, who preened under the attention. Harry thought, 'I have _never_ seen Zambini try that hard in class. Granted, I generally only see him in Potions... That's got to be it, or at least part of it,' Harry thought, straightening and his face brightening, 'Snape asked why he'd encourage an illicit class... Well, now I'm seeing _why_...'

Nott was near the back of the group - quiet as ever, saying "Expecto Patronum" ... over and over. He didn't seem to be having any luck at all. And from the tense, nearly explosive look of his body, he was about ready to destroy something. Was this the first time he'd not managed a charm? Or was it just... what charm he wasn't managing. Did he think it ... meant something, like tea leaves?

Softly, as Milicent demonstrated her Patronus, which came and went like flashing light, Harry trod around the group. He had the rather vague awareness that eyes were watching him, and yet he didn't let on that he could feel that. More particularly, he didn't look to see who was watching. What he was doing wasn't that secret, after all.

Rosier's shimmering curtain seemed to wrap around her, and Bulstrode's older brother smirked as he managed, on the fourth try, to actually get it to work. Mostly. It fell like a firework, a big bright white ball and then falling sparks.

Harry was around halfway around, when Edwyne's patronus tried to form on top of him. It fell like a tricklewaterfall, and he cupped his hands below it, saying, "That tickles!" The sparks fell through his hands as if they weren't there.

This set off a tussle, a splashfight, as the pile of Slytherins found each other's patronii and began shoving, touching, playing with them as if they were water. Soon, they had figured out that only the spellcaster could actually interact with the Patronus. So they were doing mostly ineffectual ambushes and backstabbery and sheer and simply play.

Harry let this go on for a while, still walking around to the back - (Hannah was being singularly ineffective as a teacher, as she tried to get Zambini to splash her with his patronus.) Harry closed his eyes, mentally casting a muffling spell around the study group. Up his too long sleeves, His finger waved the correct wand position."Aquamenti!" Harry thundered from the back of the group.

"No need to be such a spoilsport, Potter." Daphne said reproachfully.

"Yeah, Gryffindorks ruin all the fun!" Pansy continued.

"Break time's over, time to focus. Everyone, from the top." Harry said, only to receive odd glances from half the purebloods. "Everyone, try it again, regardless of how well you did last time. Remember, the point of this is a corporeal patronus, even if you don't make it today, or next week. You've got the whole year, I hope and pray." Harry spat out the last part with a fervency that made a few Slytherins (most notably Draco Malfoy) look a dash taken aback.

Harry didn't let the looks bother him. He'd been getting strange looks since he was eleven, and at least these were deserved.

No, something else entirely was bothering him. He'd have expected... did expect, was expecting that there would be plenty more failures. This... this whole group, their success rate, spoke of putting a lot more than a few hours into training.

But...

But...

Given that, why had no one managed a corporeal patronus? Harry knew that finding the memory was difficult, but... _everyone_? His mind boggled at that one.

When all the normal options seem unfounded, look for the barely possible. Harry'd heard that someplace (probably Hermione) and he'd thought about it a lot beforer this day. Today, the unwelcome and ... understandable? conclusion was that the Slytherins were hiding their Patronus from the rest of us.

Wait, where had understandable come from?

Harry really didn't need anyone telling him he was getting more paranoid than the Slytherins. His own mind knew it well enough.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, finally managing to approach Theodore Nott from the side.

"I'm not," Theo Nott said quietly.

"Well, Mister Nott, I think that's your problem." Harry's white smile flashed across his face, "It's rather hard to think of nothing with everyone else around."

Nott's dark brown eyes flashed up at Harry, looking at him suddenly, skeptically.

"Here, I'll help." Harry said, and he raised a hand.

Instantly, they were surrounded by what seemed like a wall, but wasn't... just darkness.

"What-?" For once, Nott looked bewildered.

"The room, for today at least, is configured to aid in teaching. As I required this, it provided." Harry Potter said confidently. **

Nott simply blinked at him, his face carefully blank.

"As I was saying, you might benefit from a lack of distractions. Don't mind me, I'll just act like I'm not here either." Harry Potter said.

Nott shifted uncomfortably, and then Harry started to talk, trying to keep his voice low and warm, mimicking as best he could Snape's cadence. "Peace is the absolute lack of everything, lack of motion, lack of people, lack of everything. Let me lower the light a little" Harry said, lowering it until it make a deep twilight haze. "Just close your eyes, and feel yourself extend, drawin into the world that does not move, just as still and just as solid." Harry kept talking, glad that Nott had closed his eyes without having to be told. "As solid as stone, as deep as the sea. As high as the moon, and then you're free." Harry reflected that it didn't matter quite what he said, as Nott was supposed to be focusing on other things; Harry just kept talking, conjuring solidity out of nothing but the wisps of dreams. When Harry's eyes caught Nott's breath slowing, his shoulders relaxing, Harry said, in a whispersoft voice, "Now cast."

Nott, having memorized the spell's casting, said firmly, "Expecto Patronum." His eyes were still shut, so he couldn't see the sudden shimmer of silver, brief as a blink, falling out of nothing, fading to nothing.

"Very good," Harry said quietly. "Try it again."

Nott nodded, very slightly, as he continued to meditate. "Leave it all behind, your body, your aches, your everything. Just picture yourself floating on a mirrordark lake."

Minutes passed, and Nott eventually cast again, successfully. His eyes were wide as he took in the falling shimmer - that lasted longer, and was softer than earlier.

"Ready to go back?" Harry Potter asked, and Nott gave a slow nod, his back turning ramrod straight as he pivoted to have his back facing the wall as they reappeared.

As Harry Potter and Theodore Nott reappeared from... wherever they'd gone, Harry's eyes immediately found Hermione, with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Draco Malfoy. Malfoy also had his arms crossed, but looked haughty and arrogantly smug. Before he could even get out a word, Luna Lovegood poked him, "Solid. Very solid. 9 out of 10 solidity." Parvati looked at him hungrily, asking with a honey-drenched voice, "Were you two really...?" Lavender Brown elbowed her friend, and Pansy snickered, saying, "If so, that was pretty quick work..." Jessie, a younger Ravenclaw, looked at them wide-eyed, and asked, "Who was the..." before turning so beet red that she couldn't get the words out. Ron, behind the gaggle of girls, was beet red, and looked like he wanted to say - something! But, of course, he'd been rendered so inarticulate that no words were appearing.

Hannah gently cut through the confusion, asking Harry, "Did it work?"

In response, Harry merely nodded at Nott, and Nott gently cast the Patronus, his slow movements almost drawn through molasses. Even the silver rain he conjured fell slower than everyone else's.

"Well, that's one way to give someone a happy 'memory'" Lavender leered. (Beside her, Parvati whispered to Harry - "you're going to tell us allll about it, right? tell us _everything_!" Harry started to flush, as he started to - very belatedly - figure out what people had been implying. That was- okay, first of all, Harry'd never do that during class! And - with Nott? Harry didn't even know the bloke. And he was a bloke, after all, and that mean errughghhh. _No_! They'd been all of five minutes***, and that was all it had taken for the gossips to go kaka crazy.

"What worked?" Goyle asked, seemingly immune to all the subtext. Harry Potter, having seen a shred of intellect from the stalwart boy, suspected that he was simply choosing to ignore it.

"Nothing." Theodore Nott said, in a soft but firm voice that carried. "I thought of nothing, until everything else just wasn't there anymore. No distractions, no pain, no irritants." The last Theodore Nott said looking at Blaise Zambini, and even Harry Potter knew Slytherins well enough to know that wasn't a coincidence.

"What about everyone else? What were you thinking about?" Hannah asked, "Maybe I can help..." The Slytherins were eyeing her skeptically, and looking at each other with about the same level of unease.

Harry Potter didn't think about any of that, though. He was focused on Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. "In line for remedial lessons?" He asked, his grin wide enough to be mocking.

Parvati actually blaunched, but Lavender just giggled, "Of course not, Harry, we were just... wanted to see what happened to you!"

"Sounds like you'd already made up your mind, even before I could get a word in edgewise."

The two girls giggled, sighed a dreamy "Oh Harry," and turned to go back to their group. As that had been the point of talking to the daft bints, Harry warily chalked the interaction up as a win. He continued watching their backs until they were out of natural earshot.*

Quietly, Harry Potter asked Crabbe, one of the few who hadn't managed a Patronus at all, "What were you thinking about?"

Crabbe looked at Potter, as if sightly dumbfounded that anyone would take the time to talk with him, let alone care about his answer to a question. Pansy stepped up, saying with a crafty smile, "My memory's the first time my mother hugged me and said she loved me." At that, Hannah looked nearly maudlin. Harry, on the other hand, was struggling to not show his entire emotional portfolio on his face. For one thing, that would be singularly unhelpful, as Pansy would assume that was directed at _her_.

"Wait, did you actually believe me?" Pansy said, her face bright and sharp as crystal, as she let out a peal of wicked laughter, "You did! You really, really did!"

"Alright, everyone, once more from the top." Draco Malfoy said, taking a turn around the room and adjusting Wyatt's arm and Gudrun's back as he went. Harry Potter turned and went the other way, taking the cue to not ask more questions.

Slytherins and their secrets. It said a lot about someone, when they thought their nearest and dearest secret was their happiest moment.

Harry Potter knew a lot about that, actually. And he'd heard something in what Pansy said that made his blood want to boil.

As the DA meeting came to a close, the Slytherins left hurriedly, somehow mingling with the Hufflepuffs without directly touching any of them. Blankly, Harry watched as the Gryffindors and the rare Ravenclaws broke up into groups, packing up and getting ready to leave.

Naturally, that meant that Ron was ambling over towards Harry, "Ready to go, mate?" He asked amiably.

"I'll be up in a bit." Harry Potter said, crossing his arms. He'd let a bit of the tension he felt seep into his words... (which was good, otherwise Ron'd spend the entire time wondering what Harry was up to).

Ron studied his friend for a long moment, before nodding and saying, "Don't stay too long, or Snape might getcha." Harry let out a soft laugh at this, both at the way things had changed, and the sure knowledge that Snape really would have him in detention if he got _caught_.

Harry waited until everyone had left (Ron had corraled Hermione so that Harry didn't have to deal with her too, for which he was thankful. For all the times when Ron was a rubbish friend, he'd have these moments of absolutely ordinary awesomeness).

Harry sat down, closed his eyes, and began to unwrap himself. He'd been pretty focused on not blowing up _at_ Pansy Parkinson.

Now, now he just wanted to let off some steam.

"Reducto!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet as his spell exploded a priceless vase. Spells passed through his mouth like water, as he vented his outrage ... at life, at everyone, at himself especially.

Harry'd thought it was bad enough, after all, when he was just the freak - the kid who deserved to be forgotten. But, listening to Pansy earlier - no one who had loving parents ever would think of saying something like that. "The first time my mom said she loved me."

"Ha!" Harry said, his laughter bitter and broken. No one said something like that, because moms said that often enough that kids just took it for granted. The first time, for Ron, or Gin or well, anyone - was well before they could remember.

Harry hated this world - a place where kids were abused, were neglected, were abandoned.

He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to take back time, to give Pansy what she'd never had. What he'd never had, for that matter.

His parents were dead. What excuse did hers have?

Another vase exploded, and Harry sent a tendril of flame at a tallboy, whose dry drawers sputtered into flame.

Was _everyone_ like that? Harry thought - most of the people I don't know, in some state of suffering, of worthlessness, of pain?

Harry made an astrolabe swing through the air, spinning as it flew. It embedded itself in a wooden door (how had that gotten here?) with a satisfying clunk.

Harry cast, and cast, and cast again, tears starting to leak down his cheeks as he made a fist, his hands pummeling a huge stuffed teddy bear.

Harry Potter didn't care - he wanted all the rage out, and so spells or muggle means were just as good to him.

Slowly, as his anger and frustration dwindled, Harry returned to thinking. Was there anything he could do?

... And that was the wrong thought to think, as Harry descended back into destruction, sending the entire room quaking with his fury.

Again and again, he destroyed object after object, until he felt just like a hollowed out shell, with everything that had animated him completely drained out.

Harry Potter slumped to the floor, staring down listlessly.

At this point, Greg Goyle emerged, and strode over to Harry, "Alright then?" He asked in that solid manner of his.

Harry Potter looked up at him, blinking. "What are you -? How'd you-?" He asked incoherently, in a dull monotone that belied the curiosity inherent in the questions.

"You looked fit to strangle a grown hog, earlier." Goyle said, his face approving as he nodded at the flinders all around them. "Meant to make sure you didn't summon Fiendfyre or something stupid like that."

Harry Potter nodded, standing - too drained to even wonder how Goyle would have stopped him. "I'd better go."

Goyle just nodded, and watched Harry Potter stumble out.

By the time Harry Potter had gotten upstairs, gotten himself changed out of the sweaty robes, and was ready to be civilized with other people, all his dormmates were curled up in beds, peeking out the curtains.

"Harry! There you are, mate!" Ron said in his usual cheerful tone, well ready to disregard any unpleasant manner that Harry'd had earlier. Ron always knew when Harry'd meant something, and when he hadn't. It was one of the things Harry liked best about his friend.

Harry sat down on his bed, his still gangly legs hanging off of it. Around them, the other Gryffindors were listening... "You said you needed some help with something?"

Ron got that goofy smile on his face again, and Harry instantly knew this was about Lavender Brown. "Yeah, so, um, there's this girl I like..."

"Lavender Brown" Harry prompted, slightly concerned that Ron had actually forgotten that he'd already told Harry.

"Yeah," Ron said, "You were right, Harry - If I want her to notice me, I have to do something."

Harry wanted simultaneously to sigh, cover his head in blankets and go to sleep - and to jump up and help Ron plan an escapade fully as loud and obnoxious as the Weasley twins had ever done. Harry Potter finally settled on just being quiet.

"Are you going to ask her out?" Neville said finally, his solid voice echoing faintly in the room.

Shamus said in his Irish lilt, "Oi, he can do better than that!"

"That's right, mate, we're on the case!" Dean said, starting a sketch of God Knows What. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he equally knew that he was coming along for the ride, come hell or high water.

So, Harry took a deep breath and started contributing, letting the brainstorming session wash away any residual anger in the sheer font of creativity.

*The japanese call this Kitsune's Wedding, and Americans' a sunshower. Just as beautiful as a rainbow.

**Harry has no idea what sort of creativity and confidence it takes to convince the Room that this, in particular, was a good idea.

***actually ten.


	13. Not liking this one bit

Have you ever had one of those days, when nothing sunk into your thick skull? When something was on your mind, and you couldn't get it out, and everything that anyone else said just didn't sink in?

This was _not_ one of those days for Harry Potter.

It was one of those days for Hermione Granger, and her 'I need to talk to you' signals were what was interfering with his studies. Luckily, Hermione was usually a peach about studying, so Harry could count on her to actually go over the material he had missed... because of her. He wouldn't even need to guilt her into it. She was nice like that. Responsible.

It wasn't a breakfast conversation, and it wasn't a lunchtime conversation, and it especially wasn't a "between or during classes" conversation (which he was glad about, as those tended to get him into unnecessary trouble.).

Harry felt the expected tug from Hermione's small hand, as she urgently tugged him towards the library. At least Ron was busy, and wouldn't be bumbling in. Harry loved Ron, and all that, but he had a feeling this conversation might, might just be something better settled one on one.

"So what's up, Hermione? " Harry asked, as she started to lay out books, creating the illusion of studying.

"The gall of that boy! The utter chutzpah!" Hermione spat.

"Who, Malfoy?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes! He claimed that he was doing you a 'favor' by not getting involved yesterday... evening." Hermione said the last word lowly.

"Did he say I owed him?" Harry asked pointedly.

"No, but that's not the point!" Hermione said. "They were coming up with all these outlandish rumors -"

"I know-" Harry said,

"I was half ready to hex him, even though he said he wouldn't do anything to you."

"I wish you'd been up and center to deal with the witches, instead - if Malfoy's going to break his word," Harry said, thinking as he went, "I don't think you'll be able to block him." Hermione's face darkened, and Harry hastily added, "at least not from that range."

"That's another thing! Why did you invite him to our practice sessions? Wasn't the whole point for us to practice together?"

"Yeah, but if we don't invite him, he'll find his way in ... again. I'm not going to play the stupid word games to keep Slytherins out. That may not be futile, but it very certainly is a complete waste of time."

"But how are we going to practice?" Hermione asked querulously.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll come up with a way. Besides, I doubt Malfoy will be making most of our sessions." That was one of Harry's 'just a feeling' - in this case, that he could convince Snape to massage the patrol schedules.

Harry Potter went to dinner with a sense of having cleared the air between himself and Hermione. Unfortunately, that was not the issue he was confronted with when he sat down to eat. No, it was Ron Weasley, looking - slightly bereft - without his friends. Harry thought crankily to himself, "Great, I have to fix that too." and then, with a nearly physical effort, thought, "I can tackle that when Lavender's dealt with. He'll listen then." Under his breath, he muttered to himself " i hope I don't need to invite Lavender along..."

Malfoy, of course, was pulling dinner off with a level of skill that Harry'd never mastered. Harry idly wondered how long it had taken Malfoy to learn inspired table manners, and to use them even when offered pizza* in the Great Hall. Harry wasn't sure that it was worth the time or effort, honestly. Harry Potter may eat like a uncultured heathen, but... Nobody really seemed to mind.**

* * *

Harry and Hermione went to the room of requirement, pacing back and forth three times, hoping that Malfoy hadn't gotten there, but just in case he'd done, I started thinking of logical traps. I finally asked the room of requirement to show me any hidden people, and if that failed, to produce a crystallic cube in the center of the room. It was nowhere near infallible, but it was proof against an initial, ill-thought salvoy, and that was really as good as I could have hoped for, with as little thought as I'd put into it.

Malfoy actually showed up precisely half a minute before he would have been "on time", which was nice, as I could stop worrying about him somehow jumping (or falling) out of the walls.

"Potter, Granger." Malfoy greeted, with a simple nod. And yet, even such a greeting meant something. Here, it just meant "we're here to get down to work"... at least that's what Harry Potter hoped it meant.

"Malfoy" they both greeted him in unison.

"You even speak together. Gryffindor - home of the brave and brainwashed." Malfoy said, smirking.

At this point, Harry Potter was giving Draco Malfoy the "you've got to be kidding me" look - because, of course, Malfoy just _had_ to be antagonistic from the very start. Couldn't just let something like "we said hello" lie. Hermione had her hands on her hips, glaring at Draco Malfoy, and she looked like she was close to stamping right up to glare at his pointy chin.***

"I'd like to propose we leave the childish insults behind, and avoid discussing such unpleasantness except where it's necessary for the matter at hand." Malfoy said, and Harry did a doubletake - this was the Malfoy who had just insulted them _and_ their house, right? "Before the end of the year, we may be crossing wands on the battlefield. Extending the courtesy of treating each other like worthy opponents is just common sense and maturity." This all would have sounded better, Harry reflected, if Malfoy hadn't just gotten done being a royal, spoiled git.

Hermione was even less likely to take this at face value than Harry - and Harry's new assumption for anything Slytherin was "there's more to it than you think." She had her hands on her hips, her foot tapping - until her questions boiled over, and she blurted out, "What kind of subject matter cares about me being Muggleborn?"

"Three entire branches of blood magic," Draco Malfoy drawled, "Plus a few esoteric bonding spells that rely on consanguinity, and, of course, wards present a singular problem for the Muggleborn." Draco Malfoy paused, "If anyone of my father's generation had sense, they'd hire the Creevey's as soon as possible - it's one thing to have a ward that only one person can enter - that's extremely failure prone, from accident or torture take your pick, but the Creeveys will both work as keys, and then you only need to have a decent defense - and, of course, the ability to whisk away the non-kidnapped party."

"You're talking about letting one of them get tortured!" Hermione gasped.

"Yes. Covering all bases." Malfoy said.

"You'd tell them before signing the contract? What they were getting into?" Harry Potter asked, less concerned with the morality of "setting someone up to potentially be tortured" and more concerned with "did they know about it?"

"Of course, and due compensation would be provided." Draco Malfoy said.

"How do you compensate someone for torture?!" Hermione yelped.

"Any number of ways, though the most popular are longlasting - giving someone a Title and Lands. You know, like Vincent Crabbe's line." Draco Malfoy said smoothly. Harry mentally filed away a bit of knowledge on how a near-squib had managed to accumulate power. j

"What kind of subject matter cares about you being an inbred hick?" Harry Potter asked challengingly.

"Surprisingly, only glamours care about _how_ one was raised. It has to do with crafting a real illusion. It's hard to craft one if you don't know exactly how it should look/move/feel/sound."

"As to inbreeding? You'd be surprised. There's at least one strong line of blood magic that perverts itself into something poisonous if used on purebloods. It's banned by the ministry, obviously." Draco Malfoy said, bracing his back against the wall, "But of more interest to you is probably Wild Magic, one of a few disciplines of charms that seem to perform better for Mu-gggleborns." Draco Malfoy looked down at the floor for a moment, muttering, "Sorry, still working on that. Force of habit."

"What's Wild Magic?" Hermione asked, her voice soft as she generally used in the library.

"It's magic that doesn't fit a set formula. Generally considered very dangerous and not to be trifled with. Spells coerce magic into doing what it's commanded to do. Wild Magic - it does the opposite. It's the Wizard's Own Will against Magic itself." Draco Malfoy said.

Harry Potter fought to not stiffen. This sounded... a little more dangerous than Snape had made learning wandless magic sound (not that he'd honestly told Harry it was any different than normal spellcasting). Hermione was also fighting to not stiffen, and Harry could see the thousand thoughts running through her head.

"Alright," Hermione said, "I think we can set the petty, bloodborne insults aside."

"Good job, knowitall," Draco Malfoy drawled, "Now let's roll up our sleeves and get casting." Harry Potter mentally shook his head, _No it didn't seem like Ma lfoy was going to be any less of a git._

Harry turned to his own sleeves, rolling them up until he heard a choking sound out of Hermione - his eyes leaped up to hers, and he followed them straight to... Malfoy's left forearm. It had a Dark Mark on it. Suddenly, everything that Malfoy had said earlier about fighting them seemed to ring home. Harry's eyes found Malfoy's, and eh was surprised at what he saw - a quiet sense of trust.

"Your arm!" Hermione finally stuttered out.

Draco Malfoy looked down, and pulled the Weasley's sticky dark mark off of his arm. "Sorry," he said, sounding blithe and completely unsorry. Fucking git.

Drawing his wand behind his back, Harry Potter looked at Malfoy and started advancing. Three steps. Four. "Finite Incantem." Harry intoned, and that smooth pallid skin faded, leaving behind the actual brand. Harry's eyes flicked up suspiciously to Malfoy's, who simply nodded slightly.

"Hermione. Wait." Harry Potter said, starting to pace. He didn't need her impetuously ... whatever she wanted to do.

"You gave us two sets of memories," Harry Potter said. "That's intentional, right?"

"Indeed." Draco Malfoy amiably agreed.

"You don't expect this revelation - no matter how expected - to have direct consequences." Harry thought out, his feet sending him back and forth across the room.

"Of course not. Even if you did report me, I think that Dumbledore... Dumbledore believes in salvation and all that rot. I think he already knows." Draco Malfoy said - and Harry saw Hermione deflate. _Good, at least one disaster averted_.

"I assume Professor Snape knows as well," Harry Potter said, and Draco Malfoy nodded, saying simply, "He is my head of house." _Not to mention a spy twice over..._

Harry hadn't flinched like Hermione had - this wasn't the first time he'd seen a Dark Mark, and he remained aware that just because you had one, didn't mean that... _Shite_, this meant that Malfoy's family was in danger, or could be in danger, or would be in danger.

_Harry Potter_, he said to himself, _you don't have to fix everything._

He only wished he believed that.

"Enough hornswaggle, we came here to fight, didn't we?" Harry said, pulling his wand. "Better be light, better be fast, Better jump quick, or be caught in the blast." Those were the last words Harry said, other than spells. He viciously reminded himself (as he rolled out of the way of something wicked that he didn't recognize from Malfoy's wand - he only knew it was wicked from the bright gleam in Malfoy's eye.) to use wand movements, to _play within the rules_.

That was the problem with training with people smarter than you were - you couldn't bluff them. "Oi, how'd you do that spell?" "I found it, in a book." Ha! Imagine trying that with Hermione Granger!? She'd have the size of the book, down to the centimeter, and then she'd have the weight and the color, and within a few hours, she'd have the actual book in her clever paws.

He spoke spells, casting them in a normal tone of voice, his body well trained like a musician's - taking oxygen where he could, but mostly forging on without it. Lifegiving breath was overrated anyway.

Time always seemed to go slower during combat, so Harry wasn't surprised when Hermione said, "You're dead, Harry. You too, Malfoy."

Waving her wand one last time, Hermione revealed bright gleen splotches on Malfoy's black robes. Harry Potter couldn't help cracking up. "Just look at you!" He chuckled.

Malfoy sneered, snapping back, "Look at yourself!"

Harry Potter did, looking down at his nearly covered in gleen robes, and then, a naughty thought came to him. He pulled himself up straight, and put on one of those Charming Grins that Sirius had so favored. "Ah, but I look good in it." Harry knew his grin oozed confidence to the point of arrogance.

"Arrogant twat." Malfoy snapped at him.

"Speccy git." Potter snapped back, his eyes sparked sharp.

"Boys!" Hermione said, her hands on her hips, "More casting, less talking."

They got back to work.

By the end of the practice time, everyone had something to work on, whether they realized it or not. Harry Potter said, with a sigh, "Time!"

"Okay, we'll go round. Self-evaluation first. What do you need to improve?"

"Stamina." Hermione said, still trying to catch her breath.

"Aim." Malfoy said, in a surprising display of self-awareness and honesty.

"Variety." Harry put in, knowing that it would mean hours of studying in the library, just to pick up things he could make himself in minutes. Still... it was the truth, he had felt very, very hobbled here, and wanted to be... free. Or as free as one could be in the non-Wild realm of magic. Seriously, _why_ had Snape not mentioned _that_?

Harry Potter had not made much of a move to leave after the practice, and he could tell that Hermione was abruptly deciding that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave the two hotheads alone in a room together, for pretty much any reason. Which meant that the _private_ conversation that Harry Potter had wanted, wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

"Tea?" Harry Potter asked, a stove popping into view at his command.

Malfoy flinched at the unexpected arrival of a modern applicance and then stared, completely dumbfounded.

Hermione eventually said, "Yes please, Harry." And Harry Potter mentally thanked Hermione for not making it into a squabblefight over who was going to make the bloody tea.

Harry Potter came back to find Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy awkwardly looking at anything except each other.

"Three tablespoons?" Harry asked Draco Malfoy.,

Draco Malfoy, in turn, blinked at him, and then smirked, "Of course."

"One dollop of honey?" Harry asked Hermione Granger.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said smoothly, her legs crossing at her ankles.

"Hey! You didn't say there'd be Honey!" Draco Malfoy protested, trying (unsuccessfully, due to Harry's automatic reflexes) to shove his cup underneath the dripping honeystick.

"I didn't realize you liked Honey." Harry Potter said mildly. "Or I'd have offered." Harry poured himself some tea, not saying a word (though Hermione frowned), when Draco Malfoy managed to snag the honey stick and drizzle a generous dollop into his already oversweetened tea. To each his own.

Harry didn't especially like black tea, mind, but he'd gotten very well used to it at the Dursleys, and wasn't terribly interested in figuring out how much cream he'd really like. He sat back to watch the... nonexistent conversation.

Well, better see about fixing that then. What's an appropriate Tea Party Conversational Topic?

"So, about the weather..." Harry Potter started.

"Crisp and clear this week. I always enjoy the weather before the fall turns." Malfoy said precisely, his eyes glinting malevolently as he spoke. Both Harry and Hermione seemed visibly surprised at his candor.

"Indeed." Hermione said, and then the conversation languished, for long enough for the silence to prick at Malfoy's temper.

"Merlin, this is shite! If you won't talk about anything, let's at least have some meaningless drabble about Quiddich." Malfoy said, his temper clear in his words, though they were a normal-volume sort of thing.

"I think we've got a pretty good shot this year." Harry said, "Though I'm still wondering who you picked for the third chaser on your lineup."

"Oh, that's the thing." Draco Malfoy said lightly, his eyes sparkling like knives over the lip of his teacup. "I'm not picking."

"Oh?" Harry Potter asked, fighting to keep his tone mild and his eyes uninterested.

"Rosier's two years younger than I am, and unlike you Gryffindors, we believe in training up." Draco Malfoy said promptly, the whole thing sounding entirely too rehearsed and well-said.

"What's your real reason?" Harry Potter chanced bluntness, thinking that Malfoy was perhaps the only Slytherin he could get away with bluntness toward - oh, sure, everyone'd expect Potter the Hero to be blunt - but Slytherins tended to close down if shoved so blatantly. Malfoy though? He liked to boast, always had, maybe always would.

"Too much to do this year." Malfoy said, still looking at Potter, before glancing towards Hermione, "Not necessarily schoolwork."

"I should... that's a really good idea," Harry said, "Maybe if I..."

"Oh, no way." Malfoy said, smirking evilly, "If you step down in the middle of the season, nobody will believe it. Worse, nobody will want to be your _obvious_ substitute."

Harry Potter let out a resigned sigh.

"Of course, I could help you with your little Quiddich Captain problem." Harry's eyes rose from his teacup to Malfoy's silversteel eyes, looking frankly incredulous. Help? From Malfoy? It wasn't just that he was offering, it was that... that'd probably be obvious enough for the whole school to notice...

"Yeah, I bet if you were dramatically injured, you could step down from being Quiddich captain easily." Draco Malfoy said lightly, before those now molten eyes looked dead on at Potter, "All you have to do is let me catch the Snitch."

"Ha-rry! You can't cheat like that! You can't possibly throw the game!" Hermione said from the sidelines.

Harry Potter merely smirked, enjoying the twist Malfoy had put on his offer of _help_. Help via mangling injury. "I'll think about it." He said shortly, and Malfoy nodded, his emotions retreating again behind that expressionless Slytherin mask.

Harry Potter had managed to scare u a better topic of conversation, "So, Hermione tells me that you had the gall to tell her that you were doing me an unasked for favor, by not ... interfering, last night?"

"I said... most of that, yes. I wouldn't term it a favor, more giving you a sporting chance." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes sparkling like shattered glass at the last two words.

"Explain." Harry Potter bit out, not wanting Malfoy to just leave it there. "I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth."

Malfoy's eyes blinked at the phrase, the corners of his mouth twitching down infinitesimally. If he wasn't so well trained, his brow might have furrowed a bit. "The crazy bints were coming up with outlandish rumors, the type that everyone will repeat once round the halls, and then they'll die a quick death."

"They know it, you know it, everyone knows it." Malfoy said snidely. "Except for Granger there."

"Hey! It's not my fault I don't listen to gossip! That's a good thing." Granger repeated stalwartly.

"Leave it to the Gryffindor Brain to turn down information for the sake of mere principal." Malfoy drawled.

"At least I have principles. Your father looks out for anything, anyway. Power? Money? Prestige? Dogshit?" Granger said, and Harry had to muffle an unexpected snort at that last one.

"You don't want to hear what I have to say about Dumbledore either, Granger. Besides, I wasn't talking about your parents. I was talking about you. And for all the traits I've inherited from my father, his inherent ability and taste for self-aggrandizement is something I, quite fortunately, lack."

"What would you have done, Malfoy?" otter interrupted the conversation as soon as he saw it was likely to explode.

"I'd have crafted a believable rumor - maybe even one a shade more conservative than would normally sell." Malfoy responded with the ease of someone who's been thinking these thoughts for a while. "But that, ladies and gentlemen, would wreck more harm on your image than any of those self-serving rumors.

Harry nodded, even as Hermione glared at him, upset that he'd taken Draco Malfoy's side.

Harry was actually relieved when Hermione started up the next fragmentary conversation. He really, really didn't have much to talk about with Draco Malfoy after all. I mean, really, what was there to say? They were rival Seekers, true, but that didn't lead to bright shiny conversation where they'd exchange tips or something.

So, all in all, it was a good thing when Hermione started to talk with Malfoy about Feoh and fecundity. Even if the actual contents of the conversation made Harry Potter (who, after all, wasn't actually taking Ancient Runes) want to blush beet red.

"Wow, if I'd have known that Ancient Runes was all about... cups and wands, I might have considered taking it." Harry Potter said, his ears still red-tipped from the blushing.

"Boys!" Hermione said, crossing her arms indignantly, "If there's one thing they think about!"

"Hey! I'm insulted by that." Malfoy cut in, managing to sound even more crotchety than Hermione, which Harry thought meant that he was probably puttng it on a bit thick intentionally. "I'll have you know that i'm perfectly capable of thinking of four or five things, they just happen to be all carnally pleasurable."

Harry Potter abruptly wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere. Preferably dragging one of the two participants in there with him.

"As ever delightful as this tea party has been, Hermione, don't you have some books to return to the library?" Harry put in.

Hermione looked at him. Blinked. Chanced a glance at Malfoy. Blinked again. Looked back at Harry, nodded slowly. "Of course. Babbling's treatise on Lindenhome's runic slang..." Hermione said, standing up and gathering her books by hand rather than asking the room to.

"Take care." Hermione said as she left, and Harry heard the subtext - be wary. It was good advice, even if Harry wanted to say he didn't need it.

After the door shut behind Hermione, Harry Potter found himself staring down at his tea. He... wasn't quite sure what exactly to do, though he wanted to do. Argh! that didnt' make any sense even in his head. Thoughts spun around, as if he was in the eye of a hurricane, slipping through his fingertips.

Malfoy said, "So, what was so blasted important that you made me sit through _that_?" Harry Potter started, his eyes jumping up to meet Malfoy's, who had the oddest expression on his face. It was impatience mixed with exasperation... and an odd sort of warmth that looked seriously strange on the ice-colored boy. Like a candle reflected through blocks of ice...

"Pansy - " Harry Potter started, and then stopped, his hands curling into fists at his side. It... Harry was almost beyond caring about what Malfoy took out of this conversation. Harry Potter wanted answers, and he wanted them _now_.

"If you want my advice, it's simple: Don't." Draco Malfoy said, that silvery, mocking half-smile gracing his face again. "Even if she wanted to date someone, it'd hardly be _you_."

At this point, Harry Potter choked on his tea, nearly spitting it _at_ Draco Malfoy. Somehow, Harry thought that would not go over well, if he stained Malfoy's robes by being that startled.

Now it was Harry's turn to look at Draco Malfoy, looking exasperated. Because of course Malfoy hadn't actually believed that Harry was talking about dating Pansy Parkinson. He was just deflecting... And that meant, both that there was something there, and that Malfoy thought it wasn't, possibly couldn't, be Potter's business. Which, thought Harry Potter, was a crock of shite.

"Pansy - what's it-" Harry paused, put half inarticulate by too many thoughts, though the chiefest one was simply, 'i know what it's like, why the hell am I asking that?'

Instead, Harry grasped for something more... useful, grateful beyond words that Malfoy hadn't taken the opportunity to slide a dagger in deep. Harry got: "What can I do?"

"Pretend you didn't hear, if you can manage that." Draco Malfoy said firmly, setting his teacup down with a hard clack, which was the only outward sign that Draco Malfoy cared about this more than discussing the weather. Harry'd've had more confidence in it, if he wasn't dead certain that Malfoy was _deliberately_ breaking role.

"And if I can't?" Harry Potter said, pausing a moment, and then diving in, "Or won't?" Harry knew his eyes were glinting like green fire.

"She doesn't _need_ you." Draco Malfoy said firmly. "If you showed her any shred of pity? She'd _end_ you."

"What. Can. I. Do?" Harry Potter asked, his tone firm and uncompromising.

"Damned if I know," Draco Malfoy said, shaking his head and taking a sip of tea. "Only, I don't think she was lying, when she was talking about her happiest memory."

Harry looked at Draco Malfoy, stared, really. Finally, long seconds later, he asked quietly, "How is that possible?"

Draco Malfoy looked a little uncomfortable, and then a bit more, "She's always had a very vivid imagination. Trace a memory enough times, even if it's only an illusion, and you can make yourself believe."

Harry Potter tried to understand this, really he did, but eventually he just folded it into that box of "Stuff to think about Later."

"All those fanciful gossipy tales she tells?" Draco Malfoy said finally, "Escapism. An outlet." He looked at Harry and said, "But don't encourage her." Then Malfoy slowly (and probably painfully) stood, and stiffly strode toward the door. Harry, still drinking his tea, let him go.

As Draco Malfoy's hand touched the door, he turned back, saying simply, "You owe me for this." Harry bent his head, in a mock nod that had his eyes more focused on his tea than Malfoy's reaction.

After the door shut a second time, Harry Potter sent the teacup (and the tea) straight into the wall, enjoying the ceramic shatter of the vitreous glass. He was in the mood for breaking something.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was on the fifth floor of Hogwarts, pacing. Or, rather, circling the entire thing. He disliked the conclusions he'd come to in the past hour, and he wanted to break something. Worse, he wanted answers, and ... well, asking Professor Snape would be the _worst_ idea.

Draco Malfoy didn't think anyone else would be able to offer insight, though. Most of the other teachers were... distant. Oh, they taught, and cared, and all that rot, but... never like Snape did. With Snape, it was always personal. With Longbottom, with Bulstrode, with Rosier. Always personal. Snape was attentive to everything around himself, as always. The difference was, at school he was likely to provide aid.

Aid that Draco Malfoy desperately, desperately needed. But couldn't ask for, because Snape wasn't supposed to know that conversation, that revelation, even existed. Worse, for Draco's ongoing sanity, The Dark Lord wasn't supposed to know about it either. Draco Malfoy briefly considered going to the Headmaster to ask for another obliviate, before reason reasserted itself.

No, it was far better for him to delve deeper into the mental arts, rather than resort to removing anything that might possibly be problematical. The Dark Lord would have to be a particularly insightful, cunning man to get anything out of Draco's actions - or even Potter's. Draco could... _would_ take that chance.

Still, Draco Malfoy's curiosity coursed through him as if his blood was on fire. How in the world had a _stray comment_ of Pansy's (the girl who made dozens of entertaining, entirely implausible comments every day), managed to upset Potter's equilibrium worse than _any_ of Draco Malfoy's comments over his entire time at Hogwarts?

Potter wasn't supposed to be complicated. He was supposed to be simple. But simple people don't ask the questions he was asking. Simple people don't notice what Potter had noticed... and drawn deeply into himself.

Friday passed uneventfully. Professor Snape was his usual cutting wit in Potions class, and - for a wonder - there were no crises. Harry Potter got to relax, for once. Or as close as he could come, anyway. His mind still urged him to do something about Pansy Parkinson, even though Malfoy, who was closer to her, had said to ... not. Doing nothing was about as foreign to Harry Potter as ... breathing in outer space. All his life, he'd spent it doing things - from making breakfast at the Dursleys to nearly-endless Quiddich practices. Deciding, choosing - not to do something? It lay over him like an prickly blanket - something you could forget about, mostly, only to be reminded of it at the most inconvenient times.

"Harry, do you mind if I come with you tonight?" Hermione asked at the dinner table.

Harry Potter blinked. Tonight was... detention, with Snape. "I _don't think_ the Professor would like that much, Hermione. _I_ don't mind, of course not."

Ron Weasley was looking at both of them, and Harry suddenly sensed both that they _ought_ to tell Ron, and that they ought to tell him, _later_. "We'll talk about this later," Harry said. "I can get what you want to know."

Hermione fidgeted, "You sure? I can't come?" Hermione was making faces worthy of the twins, petulant and unsure and wildly desperate. The thing was? The twins would have been just joshing around. Hermione wasn't. She was completely real about the whole thing, which made Harry's heart twist.

"I'll get it. Don't you trust me?" Harry asked, trying to distract Hermione away from her thoughts, which looked complicated as they played out over her whole face.

"Thank you harry!" Hermione said, "Of course I trust you, you great galoot!"

Harry smiled back at Hermione, careful not to look over at Ron, who was looking perplexed. _At least he's finally out of Lala land._

*This is post Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. There would have been whining for pizza. And don't tell me house elves don't know how to make it.

**Ha-rry! Yes, people do mind.

*** Hermione's shorter than Draco. Hence not glaring at his eyes.


	14. Wild Magic

Harry Potter had begun to learn something this year - something that he was rather sharply aware Hermione (and, perhaps, Snape and Malfoy, if you wanted to give them more credit than they deserved) had been trying to teach him for years.

Don't Act Angry.

When Harry was angry, he tended to lose his head, scream - shout, say things he didn't mean.

It was even easier to apply the rule when it came to Ron Weasley - his face got bright red, and he sulked, and he hollered, and every bit of the worst of him came out.

What Hermione had failed to realize, though, is that she was also prone to anger. And Harry had felt her anger at the Gryffindor table, it had been a physical force. Hermione tended to get accusatory when she was angry - she really did generally believe that she was right, but when she got angry, her heels dug down into the mud until they hit bedrock.

It was a bad idea to put an angry Hermione into a room with Professor Severus Snape.

Harry didn't, couldn't think of Snape actually being violent... but he didn't need to be, did he now? His tongue was enough of a weapon, often worse than Dudley's fists. It wasn't just the bile and venom, either - Snape knew how to be accurate, in a way that his young Slytherins either never cared to... or didn't feel was terribly necessary, when dealing with "Foolish Gryffindors."

Harry, himself, felt tight - the need for answers clawing inside him. And yet, he felt certain that he could approach Snape, and not trigger an explosion out of sheer stupidity.

Harry Potter braced himself on the Potion Master's door, taking a deep breath. He needed the calm, needed to embrace the calm before the storm, feel the electricity crackling and yet know that it was yet to come.

Apparently, Harry hadn't been quiet _enough_.

The door swung open, leaving Harry, eyes closed, half stumbling half falling forward into Snape's office. "Ah, Mister Potter. Here for your detention? Regretfully, you shan't be spending it on the floor. Stand, close the door, and we will begin."

With rather a lot more grace than he'd shown in the last fifteen seconds, Harry Potter scrambled fluidly to his feet (resembling a waterfall leaping uphill) and shut the door in a motion just barely less than a slam.

He turned towards Snape, who was looking smug (no doubt at having made Potter look so klutzy). "Well, Potter? Out with it." Snape snapped. his keen eyes clearly having seen that Harry had a question.

"Why didn't you tell me - us - that we were learning Wild Magic?" Harry Potter asked, flashing behind his glasses were the images of distrustful people staring at him, clutching their wands.

Severus Snape _looked_ at Harry Potter, covering his forehead in his hand, with his thumb outstretched along a temple. It was a queer gesture, and Harry only belatedly put together that it was meant to shield Snape's eyes from nonexistent light.

"You've been speaking to Draco Malfoy again, I take it?" Snape said, in a sort of quiet exasperation that came out like a sigh.

Harry Potter nodded crisply. "Hermione heard as well."

Severus Snape rolled his eyes at that one, saying, "Of course she did. What pray tell brought that into conversation?"

"A discussion of inbreeding and outbreeding." Harry Potter said, recollecting himself quickly as he put in nearly before Snape had opened his mouth, "A _civil_ discussion."

"Ah." Severus Snape said, lacing his hands behind his back as he strode over towards Potter. "Lucius Malfoy is a scholar of wizarding lore." Snape spun, his robes flaring out as he faced Potter again, his long strides taking him back and forth across the room, like a panther pacing in a cage. "As such, he has countless tomes describing spell lore, among other things."

Harry Potter just looked at Severus Snape, his head moving to keep fluid track of his teacher.

"Draco Malfoy is no scholar; he reads what he wills, and chooses what to think based on what is convenient for him." Snape said, looking at Harry Potter, "I have not mentioned the words Wild Magic, because they are a false construction. If I could, I'd find a way for you to never have heard of them."

"Why's that?" Harry Potter asked.

"Because those are words constructed out of pure fear." Snape said, his mouth quirking into what was not quite a straight line - maybe less of a frown?

"Constructing new spells is a difficult business," Snape said, "All the moreso if you want them to work for someone else. That is how Miss Lovegood's mother lost her life, after all."

Harry stared at Professor Snape, surprised that he'd known, or cared enough to familiarize himself with her circumstances.

Snape, catching the question in Potter's eye, responded softly, "Anyone who can see thestrals at such a young age is deserving of special notice and care."

"And someone like Parkinson isn't?!" Harry said, his eyes blazing brightly in the dim light.

Snape looked at Harry Potter for a long moment, and then said, softly and chidingly, "There can be more than one reason to give a particular student special treatment, Potter."

Harry Potter looked at the floor, his ears tipped bright red.

"I can assure you that House Slytherin looks after its own, as best we may." Professor Snape said, and Harry - sneaking a glance up at Snape, saw _something_ \- hot and ferocious in Snape's eye. Something that Snape hadn't let into his face, let alone his voice. But Harry marked it, nonetheless.

"As to the so-called Wild Magic?" Snape continued, "It is pure rubbish. Designed to prevent dullards from attempting things that would ruin them." Harry Potter heard in that statement the quiet confidence that Snape would _never_ voice - you are _not_ a dullard.

"Besides," Snape continued, starting to pace again, "Dark Magic is as different from most of what people would call Wild Magic as to be a separate species. The entire term is ridiculous!" Snape said, throwing up his hands as he paced away from Harry Potter.

Snape covered his eyebrows with his hand again, and said succinctly, "You may convey my explanation to Miss Granger." With a quiet sigh that made his shoulders shake, Snape said, "Her questions will undoubtedly be better formed and easier to answer for your help, and the time to consider what aspects she truly doesn't understand."

"Could I...?" Harry Potter asked, not halfway through the question before Snape's glare cut him off.

"No." Snape said, his voice cold as fallen snow. "Acting, I find, works best when there's an element of truth to it. If there were no just reason for me to be upset with Miss Granger, then where would we be?" Snape's eyes danced with dark humor. "You, on the other hand, I never need extra reason to inflate my fury." Snape said, turning away, "All I need to think about is you flying across all of Muggle England _and_ Scotland, in a _flying Muggle Car_!"

Harry Potter, blushing, looked down at the floor, fighting back a smile. That really had been irresponsible of him... "If you had been in charge, sir, would you really have had us expelled?"

"Presumably," Snape growled. Just listening to Snape was enough to send his heart pitterpatter - Harry well remembered what the threat of being expelled had felt like, and to hear that Snape _really_ would have... Still, Harry thought, he had _known_ it was wrong, and an epic violation of rules that were meant to keep the _entire_ Wizarding World safe (as well as the Muggles unobliviated...). Snape wasn't criticizing at him for ... even Sirius Black, and that was a wonder in of itself.

Snape continued, in a lighter tone of voice, continued, "I don't make it a general habit to be lax in discipline." Snape knit his hands together, starting to pace again, not saying a word. "As you are apt to cause _just_ as much trouble whether someone is keeping an eye on you _or not_, I would have found some way to get you readmitted, of course." Snape looked over his shoulder at Harry Potter. "Eventually." Harry really had to wonder exactly what kind of punishment Snape would have devised, if he'd been Headmaster. Bearing in mind that his authority ended at the castle gates.

"Would you have made me into a caretaker, like Filch?" Harry hazarded, not quite looking at Snape as he did so.

"No..." Snape said in that molasses dark way of his, where the word just oozed out of his mouth, slow as golden syrup. "We already have a caretaker after all. I'd have found something worse. I doubt that Hagrid would say no to an assistant. How would you fancy mucking out stalls for a year?" Snape said, his dark eyes glimmering with acid amusement.

Harry Potter stared at Snape, somehow surprised and yet not surprised. It was both a harsh punishment... and something that seemed predictable for Snape, who had assigned him cauldron scrubbing whenever he had a detention. That was odd. Because it was something Harry would have expected... Harry'd gotten... well, used, to Snape _over the summer_ being a little different from how he acted as a Potions Teacher. Here, at least, was something that Snape actually believed in. Harry should have known, too, after all those miles of running - miles that Snape had run alongside Potter, making Potter hate every single burning breath - as Snape made it all look easy.

"Sir, there was something I had wanted to ask you..." Harry Potter said, sounding the least bit uncertain.

"Go on," Snape said, and there was something in the lack of impatience that impelled Harry to, indeed, keep talking.

"I convinced Zach Smith to take over the ... study group," Harry was convinced that Snape surely knew what it was called, but it didn't seem quite so dignified saying it to the Head of Slytherin House. "I did so by appealing to his pride. He's so convinced that he'd do a better job than me, that he leaped at the opportunity."

"Potter, that's not a question." Snape said.

"No, sir, it's not. It's just... I had wondered... would Draco Malfoy have reacted the same way?" Harry Potter asked, fighting to not shift back and forth on his feet like a silly first year.

"Yes, and no." Snape said shortly, pausing a moment before continuing. "Pride wouldn't have been the reason Malfoy would have accepted. No, he'd have moved for status, and status alone."

"What's the difference?" Harry Potter asked quietly.

"Pride, at least the way Mister Smith has it, is internal. He believes, and thus does things that will further his belief in himself." Snape said.

"And Not Malfoy?" Harry Potter asked.

"No." Snape said, turning the word into five unendingly slow syllables. "He wishes to be seen as your equal, if not your superior. So, he would have accepted because it would be you implicitly acknowledging that he stood on the same level as you."

"I'm not sure I understand." Harry Potter asked, and Snape sighed.

"Have you never, ever wanted someone to think something in particular of you?" Snape asked

"I've wanted Hermione and Ron to think me a good friend." Harry said promptly, before flushing, somehow knowing that wasn't the right answer to say.

"You abjectly humiliated yourself in front of the Dursleys." Snape said, "To prove yourself lower than them _in their eyes_." Snape said, "That's the key, in their eyes. Malfoy wouldn't have accepted because of his own prideful bearing. But he would have accepted to have others look up to him."

Harry Potter nodded, quietly. Not in a million years would he ever understand these Slytherins. He wasn't sure why he tried, really. Couldn't really help himself, he supposed.

"I don't think I understand how to cast one spell while saying another," Harry Potter said, in frustration. "I keep on getting confused - changing the spell, rather than casting another one."

Smugly, Snape smirked, and said, "Try saying one spell until you have it on instinct. Limit it to a time that you can control - say falling out of bed."

Harry just looked at Snape, as that hadn't even been something on his radar. At all. Blankly, he nodded.

"Once you have a spell that you simply say, and do not cast, casting a spell automatically will come with time, and practice." Snape's mouth quirked, drawing itself up into nearly a flat line. "Practice, practice, and yet more practice."

For the rest of his detention, Harry got to work - Snape sat nearby, reading and correcting homework assignments. It was surprisingly peaceful, though occasionally Snape would call out a correction. Those were, by and large, helpful, so...

Before Harry left, he caught himself wondering what Snape would like taught in the homework club next, but resolved not to pry. If Snape had any Special Requests, he'd have said so.

* * *

Coming back from detention, Harry barely waved at Hermione in the common room, instead racing upstairs to his dorm. Everyone was there, working on last-minute finishing touches. Harry let his own magic stretch out, wandlessly giving a bit of it to a few flowers that were starting to flag.

"All set for tomorrow?" Harry asked, fighting to hold back a grin. He'd missed times like this - Gryffindors just being Gryffindors.

They had everything set up, and Ron Weasley was waiting in the transformed Common Room for her to come down the stairs.

The rest of the galoots? They were hiding, so as to get the joy of her reaction, but not spoil the surprise.

So, when Lavender Brown (prompted, which is to say - kicked out of bed - by no other than Gin Weasley) walked down the stairs, she walked into a bouquet of flowers. Literally. There were daisies and poppies and roses (which is to say, the flowers the boys could manage to find), and there was Ron, in a surprisingly well tailored outfit, looking up at her adoringly. He had a simple necklace in his hands, and he offered it to her as he smiled weakly, "Will you go out with me?" He asked, almost bashfully but with that smile that Lavender adored.

"Of course!" she said, nearly leaping from halfway down the stairs into his arms. "Yes! Yes!" She said, plastering herself to him, (his hands were on her thighs, holding her so she wouldn't fall, as she did the best impression of a koala that Harry'd ever seen.)

"How'd you come up with all this?" Lavender asked, grabbing at the box of chocolates that was in the middle of the common room - clearly for her. "Cockroach clusters, my favorite! How did you know?"

"Hermione'd mentioned it," Ron said softly, "Erm... about two years ago." Ron wasn't about to tell Lavender that Neville was the one to remember the very exciting story about cockroach clusters exploding and winding up on top of Hermione's bed - not the spread, the silk canopy.

Dean popped out from where he was hiding, rubbing his head, "Erm... we may have helped a little, but I do want to say this was all his idea." Which it was, sort of. Ron had wanted to do something big to wow Lavender, because he wasn't thinking that he was good enough for her... but everyone had contributed both ideas and time and magic to the endeavor (Harry's part was mostly 'Dealing With Ginny.' as he had to convince her to do a favor for her prattish brother, always a dicey thing).*

Parvati was down the stairs by this time, laughing and clapping with her friend, hugging her too - and Colin-with-the-Camera was also down the stairs, shooting pictures of absolutely everything (including Dean and Seamus goofing off, as usual).

It was nice to have something turn out right, for once.**

* * *

By the time they were down to breakfast, Gryffindor House was merely cheerful, rather than "bouncy, happy, zoom, jump for joy!" Just as well, Harry thought, as a certain spiteful Snape might give them _all_ detention for the crime of being happy. Speaking of Snape, Harry looked up at the head table, and didn't see him there. Harry thought back to the way Snape had been shielding his eyes with his hand. _I wonder if his headache's gotten worse..._ Harry thought.

Harry let out a loud groan, as he realized - everyone of course looking at him now, "I've got detention..."

"With Snape?" Ron asked, and at Harry's nod, he responded, "Rotten luck that."

Lavender and Ron were sitting side by side, which meant that Harry was sitting beside Herimione, whose face was stuck in a book as usual. "Hermione." Harry said gently, "I'd like to talk with you after my detention."

"Library. Near the 1700's Goblin Rebellion." Hermione said, not lifting her nose out of the book.

* * *

The long, long way down to the dungeon seemed like it was designed to kill Harry's high spirits (probably a good thing, Snape wasn't the type to like happy). Still, a feeling of almost dread started to creep over Harry, until he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten yesterday to talk with Snape about something important.

Harry arrived (hopefully on time) and knocked at Snape's door.

No answer.

Harry took a deep breath, and knocked harder.

Half a minute went by and no answer. Harry cast a Tempus spell, and determined that he still had five minutes. He settled in to wait.

Five minutes later, Harry Potter knocked on the door, his curiosity getting the better of him, as he let his magic brush the wards. Strong as ever, those.

Still no answer though, and Harry was starting to get curious.

Two minutes passed, and then three, and then seven.

Finally, Harry knocked hard enough to rattle the doorframe.

And waited.

And waited some more.

It wasn't conceivable that Snape, of all people who cared about timeliness, would be late. Not for a detention, he had an example to set after all. ***

Harry knocked again, knowing that Snape was fifteen minutes late, and time was ticking. Then, an inkling thought started to rise out of his unconscious. This was a detention that Malfoy assigned, not Snape. He might have not told Snape (deliberately? ) about the detention.

_Speak of the devil and he appears._ Harry Potter thought, not pleased to see Malfoy sauntering down the hall. Malfoy in his home turf (Malfoy with appearances to keep, his inner conscience said), wasn't likely to be a good meeting, no.

"Potter," Malfoy said, his voice oozing cocksure confidence, "What brings you to the dungeon on this fine sunny day?" Malfoy's lips still seemed tight at rest, he had seemed that way at breakfast too... _Was something wrong?_ Harry found himself thinking.****

"As if you don't know." Harry spat back, falling back into old patterns as if they were new again.

"Pretend I don't." Malfoy drawled.

"You assigned me a detention, and Snape hasn't shown." Harry Potter said, the rest of the words dying on his tongue as he saw Malfoy's eyes widen slightly. _This was new to him. Maybe he's not so much in the know as he thinks he is._

"Well, Mister Potter, I suppose you can wait and see if he shows." Draco Malfoy drawled, his lips curling into a victorious smirk. "If he doesn't, we can simply move it to tomorrow."

Harry Potter turned on his laser eyes of death, and drilled them into... the back of Draco Malfoy's head, as the blond swaggered his way out of the dungeons. Unfortunately, just like every other time Harry Potter had tried this, they failed to work.

So, with basically nothing to do except wait, and cursing Draco Malfoy for being a gitty git git and so utterly full of shite that... Harry Potter started to review things.

His mind flashed back to the last time he had actually been talking with Malfoy (civilly for once, it was passing strange). Malfoy's needling about Harry marrying Pansy was a little pointed, come to think of it. Was Malfoy trying to say that the Properly Gryffindor way to save Pansy was to marry her? Maybe he was... Harry considered, before shaking his head. If that was the only "proper" way to do some heroing about the situation, she could well rot. Seriously, Harry Potter didn't want to know if that was the case, as it would ... sort of bug him, in an itchy short of way. No, if that was the case, Harry'd rather it not be the case, but didn't want to go out of his way to fix it either. And he didn't exactly fancy himself some sort of matchmaker that could actually find a way to help Pansy out with marriage. Assuming she wasn't going to marry Malfoy... Was that what Malfoy was trying to say? That he couldn't stand her? Well, in that way, he was pretty clearly her friend? Or whatever Slytherins have instead of friends, that seems way too Hufflepuff a term...

Harry suddenly realized he'd spent about five minutes thinking about something that he didn't really care that much about.

Harry Potter returned to staring at Snape's door, wishing the man would just show up, and slowly starting to worry that he wouldn't. After all, Malfoy had created this detention, and may not have bothered to tell Snape. If it was just going to be cauldron scrubbing, Harry felt like Snape didn't really need that much warning either.

Harry Potter idly tried to figure out if there was ever a time when Snape hadn't been at school. He couldn't really think of one off the top of his head - wait, his _head_! There had certainly been times when Snape had been kneeling before his Dark Lord and Master... but Harry didn't feel anything from that quarter. If he could believe his own head, which hadn't been the most reliable barometer in the past.

Three hours later, his detention was done. Still no sign of Snape. Would he even be there tomorrow? Harry certainly didn't know, and he felt more and more certain that Malfoy didn't either. Would Malfoy the Death Eater know if Snape was summoned? Harry Potter blinked at having put it that way, even in his mind. Somehow, it seemed true and mostly false at the same time. Huh. He'd have to consider that further...

Harry spent a good thirty minutes after his detention carping about it to his friends. He'd forgotten, really, how much fun it was to get rid of frustration like this - to know that his friends would have a good listen. Hermione would tell him he was blowing things out of proportion (or, more rarely, that he was completely misunderstanding the situation). Ron would simply growl at whichever Slytherin Harry was currently mad about.

And, in this case, Harry Potter felt he was justified in being upset at Draco Malfoy. He'd let his tongue get the better of everything, and said something he probably shouldn't have in the library (where stacks could shield many prying eyes)... "If we're going to be training with him..._Why_ does he have to act like such an absolute git?"

Time seemed to stop, at least for Harry Potter. Hermione, as well, from how her breathing had stopped. Ron just looked at both of them. And then looked again. He smiled, and said, "You're not planning on leaving me out of this, are you?"

"Of course not!" Hermione said stoutly.

"It's just that ... we were told not to learn what you've learnt, and ..." Harry Potter paused.

"Not sure it'll be that easy for you to learn what we've learned either." Hermione finished.

Ron Weasley just looked at them.

"But whenever he's there, we won't be working on our... specialties..." Hermione said quickly.

Ron nodded slowly, and everyone began to breathe again. Harry Potter went back to ranting about Malfoy, and Hermione only said twenty minutes later, "you don't think he was acting, do you?"

At which point, Harry Potter wanted to kick himself for having spent nearly an hour being upset about something Malfoy hadn't really meant in the first place.

Ah, well, frustrations that get poured out to friends are infinitely better than being caught fighting in the halls, Harry thought with an inner impish grin.

Harry Potter hoped to a fever pitch, that Snape would be back tomorrow. He really, really didn't fancy spending another three hours staring at a wall.

For the second day in a row, Harry Potter was staring at the Potion Master's Office Door. He wanted to kick it. Wanted to pound on it until it burst free from its tracings.* Wanted, in fact, to be doing absolutely anything rather than simply standing there.

Worse, he couldn't be completely sure that Draco Malfoy had done this on purpose. He hadn't reacted yesterday - but with Malfoy, that was more likely to mean he was surprised than he had intentionally done something. Besides, since when did Severus Snape leave Hogwarts? Harry Potter could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that he'd seen the man even outside the building.**+

Harry Potter hated waiting, but waiting like this was even worse. It was the uncertainty that was driving him up a wall. In fact, he could feel his magic pricking at his fingers. Now there's a thought... Harry Potter started preparing to cast a spell - wandlessly and wordlessly, summoning Earth. He could feel the leaden feeling pooling in his hands, and he instinctively slumped, bringing his hands closer to the ground. Then, at a flick of his concentration, he was channeling Fire, which leapt into his hands and only was resistant to staying there. Harry bit on his lip to keep it there.

"Potter?" Draco Malfoy said, stopping short in his walk down a different corridor entirely - he'd obviously seen Harry and been caught a bit offguard. From the suspiciously long pause, Harry amended that to 'caught well off his guard.'

Draco came down the connecting corridor with a swagger, and said, "Still no sign of my Head of House, I see." Draco's mouth quirked into a smirk, as if Draco Malfoy had actually been responsible for it. But, Harry's reason asserted, he couldn't possibly have been. He _was_ surprised, I saw it! "You can make the detention up tomorrow. If he doesn't show." No excuse there for slacking off, Harry thought with a grumble as Draco swaggered away, uncaring that Harry hadn't actually responded.

Harry went back to working through the elements, with water being such a slippery thing that he had trouble summoning it.*+* Nearly half the time had gone by before he remembered _needing_water in his cupboard; he cupped his hands, and it was there, pooling and not trying to slither away from him. Huh.

Air, Harry found, took even longer, as it didn't want to come or stay. He was forced to make it spin, and then his hands hurt. A lot. Harry stopped working for a while, just letting himself think.

Almost unbidden he started thinking about Snape's comment about how easy it was to get mad at Harry Potter. Oddly, Harry found the notion slightly comforting. After all, Snape could have been referencing his father. He'd certainly made enough comments bending in that direction that Harry wouldn't have been surprised at it. But no, he'd found something that Harry'd Done to be upset with. And, it was actually NOT something that Harry should have done! Harry would have been upset, he thought, if Snape's "get mad at Harry" memory was Harry chasing after the Philosopher's Stone (best not to mention to Snape that they'd thought he was the one stealing it...). And... and it would have _hurt_ if Snape's memory was of Harry running off to the Department of Mysteries. Harry now knew that he was in the wrong, but... it would have still _hurt_.

As the minutes clicked by, Harry began to look forward to Zach's study sessions. He wondered idly what they'd be learning today. Probably Ravenclaw's turn next, he thought wryly. Because if it was either Slytherin or Gryffindor, someone was still apt to take it ill.

**+Snape does get fresh air from time to time. Why else does he wander the halls late at night? (answer: harvesting potion ingredients).

*+*Gryffindors are naturally fire aligned, befitting their quicktempered nature. Slytherins are naturally water aligned, and still waters run deep, shall we say?

*Harry, being harry, hasn't asked why he was the one selected for that task. Oblivious much?

**famous last words.

***Snape's capable of powerplaying with time, and Harry's aware of that. Just... not for a detention. That'd be silly and counterproductive.

**** Yes, harry, something's wrong. your existence, specifically.


	15. Thief-stones

Harry made it up to the Study Session (as he'd taken to calling it in his head, as it seemed more than borderline disrespectful to call it Dumbledore's Army when Draco Malfoy was attending, alongside the rest of the Junior Death Eaters - the rest of which, Harry hoped devoutly, weren't actually branded. Yet.)

That last word had Harry Potter striding into the Room of Requirement with a scowl fit to sit on Snape's face. He only barely glanced at Boot and Connor, both of which were going to teach the class in tandem.

Well and good, Harry thought, though he wondered what they'd be teaching. He didn't have many classes with them, and they didn't stand out all that much in the classes that he did have with them.

As everyone filed in, Harry's eyes flicked to the few Slytherins that he'd marked as not knowing a Patronus at all. He wondered, idly, if there was something he could do about that. Blinking, he rethought that - it would have to be something real. Not something faked, and that meant something more or less permanent. He probably wouldn't be doing anyone any favors befriending Slytherins - the rivalry between the Houses wasn't something that Malfoy and Potter'd made up in some sort of joint pact, after all.

What Boot and Connor had cooked up wasn't something Harry would have thought about instinctively. It was the uses of Transfiguration in battle situations. And not the way Dumbledore had fought, using high powered (and very difficult) Transfiguration to set up the other person.

No, this was low powered transfiguration. But that was why it worked. Spelling terra firma into mud, transfiguring a layer of muddy snow into ice (still hidden under a delicate layer of snow). Even something as simple as making boots lighter. Harry'd smirked as he'd transfigured a glass sphere into lodestone. Yelps from other people were heard as various trinkets, rings and other bits started to fly towards the ball. When Harry saw someone's knife flying at it, though, he thought better of this plan, diving for cover.

It took about three minutes for everyone to have their stuff lifted out of their pockets - both from pressing closer and turning towards the sphere.

"What is that?" Pansy snapped, less angry about her stuff being stolen (and there was a lot, including a very pretty looking laquered compact) than about not knowing what it is.

"It's a thiefstone." Harry Potter explained, "It does just about what you see here."

"Harry!" Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Odd," Malfoy said, studying the debris... "There's a pattern to what's here and what's not. It can't just be metallic, or our money would have come too." Draco Malfoy's silver-gray eyes flicked up at Harry, who was trying to defend himself from Hermione, who was using her glare (and elbow) to enforce her will.

Malfoy, gaze darkening at being ignored, simply walked up behind Granger (well, more stalked, really...), and lifted her off her feet, depositing her about two feet away from Potter. Hermione actually gave Malfoy a hiss before she leaped back over to Harry.

Malfoy tilted his head at Crabbe, who came over and lifted Hermione off the floor - again. Her kicking feet were trying for his groin, but he had also been watching Malfoy. He did what the slighter, shorter, frailer boy couldn't - put Hermione in a Princess Carry, and held her there.

Out of perhaps sheer shock, Hermione was silent. Harry wanted to cringe. Whenever there was silence around Hermione, it boded poorly for later.

"Why didn't it take our money?" Malfoy asked, "What's so special about what it did take?"

"Magnetism." Harry Potter said shortly. "It's a property that the Wizarding World doesn't study well or often, but the muggle world practically runs on it."

"The Muggle world runs on stealing things with thiefstones?" Goyle asked in a state of perpetual confusion, "Seems a bit unworkable to me."

Harry Potter shook his head, smirked a smile, and said, "Just ask Hermione if you want details." Behind his back, Malfoy rolled his eyes, making motions like pulling taffy to indicate that you'd receive alll the details you never wanted.

Monday morning dawned gloomy with a trace of rain in the distance, Harry scanned out across the Forbidden Forest, watching the fuzzy shapes of clouds that were dropping rain. This was one of those days he remembered from the Dursleys', when he had longed for sun - just to be outside. Days that he'd spent curled in the cupboard without so much as a book, straining to hear the tele through the closed door. He'd rather have been sweating, doing some honest work on the roses, or mowing the lawn, or weeding. _Anything_, rather than being _stuck inside_.

He'd managed to wake up before everyone else, and so, lacking a better plan, he'd changed. Staring outside, he asked himself, _Are you a wizard or not?_

And so, out he went, into the misty muggy morning. With a simple water charm to repel most of the rain, he had fun jumping in puddles and otherwise acting like he was about five years old.

Hey, he'd never done it the first time, had he? Splashing mud everywhere, listening to the water dripping off Hagrid's hut, just inhaling the deeply wet air. It felt so much more freeing than being indoors.

How had he not done this before?

One of the numerous gates of Hogwarts opened, catching his ear as it gave an unused squeal.*

Harry turned, to see the long, lanky form of Severus Snape entering the grounds. Only...

Snape was leaning his full weight on the door, and it only slowly started to close, his breath coming out in a relieved sort of sigh as his eyes closed. The door closed with an audible shunk.

_Which is a good thing, as for a moment, I'd thought of helping._

Snape stood, and tottered like a half-spun top, moving towards Hogwarts castle. It was a far cry from his usual striking glide.**

Not wanting to be caught staring, Harry Potter picked up a stick and started to balance it on his cupped hand, the length of it making it difficult to not have it fall completely off. After Snape had passed, Harry cast a quick Tempus, _Time for breakfast!_ With feet as sure as a mountain goat's, he took off towards a different door than Snape was angling towards.

Harry'd been trying not to question - just observe, use his eyes first, and then his brain. That works, however, only as long as you can observe something. Heading towards the Great Hall, Harry had to wonder, _What had happened to Snape? Was Tom Riddle displeased? If so, why didn't Malfoy or Harry know about it?_

By the time Harry Potter got to the Great Hall, nearly everyone was seated, including Professor Snape. Harry's eyes had immediately shot to the High Table as he entered, and he had to fight not to blaunch. Snape looked nearly skeletal as he sat there, his parchment-colored skin stretched over bone as if he was just seconds from death.

What. The. _Hell_. Had. _Happened_? Harry thought, half upset, half bewildered, and a good deal terrified.

A good deal quieter than Harry normally was at breakfast-time, he approached the Gryffindor table, angling absentmindedly towards Hermione and Ron... His eyes remained on the High Table, taking in with some confusion the completely self-assured and not at all worried Albus Dumbledore. Most of the other teachers seemed to be going about their own business, but unless he was mistaken, he could have sworn he saw McGonagall shooting Snape some rather worried looks. _Almost as if she doesn't know what's going on..._

Harry hurriedly jerked his attention away from the High Table, seating himself with a jaunty laugh (oh, all right, he was a horrible actor, and his wry chuckle seemed like ash in his throat). Slyly, he glanced quickly at the Slytherin table, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw that Malfoy wasn't looking directly at him. It took him a few seconds to think - he wouldn't be looking directly at me, would he? Not if he didn't want me to know he was staring...

Which, when you think about it, brought up all sorts of wonderful "then why was he..." questions, because for as often as Harry'd stared at Malfoy, the blond twit had been staring back. Across an entire room of people. Being rather obvious about it.

Harry jerked his mind away from that line of thought (better thought about later, if ever), and nodded at Hermione, who was saying (as usual), "You guys really need to study more."

"I'll meet you at the library after class." Harry said, somewhat unprompted.

Hermione smiled victory, and Ron moved on to complain about the sheer amount of homework they had due.

Harry wasn't listening to the well-worn argument. Instead, he was casting wary glances up at the High Table. Snape was picking at his food ... strange, he seemed to be eating less than a tenth of the food on his plate... Harry was suddenly, quite vividly, reminded of when he'd done the same. It had been after a full week of no food at the Dursleys. Oh, they'd given him water, and occasionally a juicebox, but nothing to eat. Unfortunately for them, starving makes uncontrolled magic more likely, not less. But, Harry thought, who could have been starving _Snape_? The usual candidate for "something has gone wrong in Harry's Life", Tom Riddle, wasn't a candidate. His punishments tended towards the backbreaking. Excrutiating pain, malevolent glee. Leaving someone to rot in a cupboard wasn't his style at all.

Harry rather belatedly realized that he didn't know Snape's eating habits at all. For all Harry knew, this was Snape's usual custom, picking at his food until it was time to leave. However, Harry Potter didn't think that Snape, of all people, would be so _wasteful_.

Snape seemed unconcerned by his appearance - but that wasn't unusual in the slightest.

Still, Harry Potter hoped that Malfoy wasn't carrying tales about this to his father. At this point, Snape didn't seem like he could adequately defend himself against a fly.

Harry Potter wasn't first to DADA, but he was far from last. He had been almost expecting to see Snape inside - even though he seemed to like arriving just in time to start class. Harry really wasn't sure what he expected. Was it the Professor lounging on a stiffbacked wooden chair, his lanky ungainly frame in some relaxed state? Or was it him leaning against a wall, looking smug and observing everyone as they entered?

Harry Potter took up residence half the room away from the entrance, his back against the wall. This time, instead of trying to figure out class dynamics, he just concentrated on assessing threats as they came in the door. The Hufflepuffs were assessed as being trustworthy - though since the girls had entered in a pack, Harry'd had to upgrade their threat level. Everyone knew Hufflepuffs fought well as a team - that even showed up in Quiddich, where innate talents could sometimes yield to raw determination and hard work. The Slytherins were the people who captured Harry's eyes the most, however - He'd have to learn some way to tell their danger level. It was tricky, as they were actively trying to hide it. You always had to wonder, were they merely being polite? Or was it an engineered trap?

Why couldn't it be both? Harry asked himself with a snap.

Cho Chang and the rest of the Ravenclaws, entering in pairs or solo, were assessed by how tightly they gripped their wand. Emotions seemed to hit the Ravenclaws worse than the rest of them, perhaps because they treasured intellect so much. With Gryffindors, emotions were expected, and thus everyone seemed to be quick to forgive - but the Ravenclaws? They looked on them with displeasure and dislike. Someone (like Luna) exhibiting overly many emotions was apt to be picked on, as indeed she had been.

Hermione was assessed nearly fully by her face, as was Ron Weasley - they were both volatile, and not good at hiding anger. And anger would be the only reason they'd be a threat to him, Harry thought firmly.

Snape flung himself into the room, his skeletal form sinking into his normally well-tailored clothes. "Today," He said, scampering onto the small podium. _Strange, _Harry thought, _he doesn't seem almost to have noticed what a state he's in._

Snape continued, "We will be studying the Patronus Charm. Can anyone tell me what its primary use is?"

Ten people in the room raised their hands, and Harry was surprised to see that one of them was Seamus. Was he secretly someone who wanted a teacher's approval, yet didn't ever seem to work hard enough to gain it?

"Parkinson," Snape drawled, his birdlike form leaning over the lectern like a dipping bird.

"The Patronus Charm is useful for repelling Dementors." Parkinson said, her face schooled to a level of niceness that looked downright odd on her puggish face.

"Very good." Snape continued, "Here is the incantation. "Expecto Patronum!" " His wand moved in that oh-so-familiar, and practiced way. Snape's Patronus showed as a shimmer of silver light, falling.

"How many of you are able to cast a fully corporeal Patronus?" Snape asked, his eyes down on the lectern, looking at the papers he had entered with. So, Harry and everyone else from the Study Club (there _had_ to be a better name, right? Somewhere?) saw that nearly the whole room was raising their hands. Ron and the Gryffindor boys (save Neville and Harry) wore identical matching grins, that seemed to say, "Take That!"

Snape finally looked up, "Here I have recorded -" Snape's mouth dropped open, and he slowly spun to take in the room. Well more than half the room had their hand up, though Harry noticed that none of the Slytherins did. Which was a flat out lie, but if Snape was going to criticize, at least it wouldn't be them - I bet _that's_ their theory. Harry thought.

Snape's eyes had managed to bug out, as he looked around. As his gaze returned to the center of the class, Snape sent a stormy glare out, not at the Gryffindors in particular, but the entire class.

"Do you have any _idea_ how much work it was to find these documents? Ten memoirs for even the minor mention of knowing this spell, and a hundred to get something worthy of reading?!" Snape roared. Harry blinked, remembering that he'd come to the conclusion that Snape wasn't actually angry when he was yelling.

Snape dashed the papers on the floor (the front row backed hesitantly backwards), and then set them ablaze, "I set you the readings, I gave you the syllabus! This was supposed to take the next _month_! You Dunderheads!" He was even stamping his feet (on the ashes that wouldn't go out to the white-cold gust of wind he had just chased that fire with). _So this is what Snape chooses to do when he's clearly drained. Have a three-year-old's tantrum in the middle of class._

It took some time for Snape to calm his way down, and the smirks that the Gyrffindors were sending each other jangled Harry's nerves.

Harry at least had honed looking chastized down to an art - even when he didn't feel bad at all. If there was one emotion he could actually act through, it was that one. Belatedly, he put on that look, scraping the ground with his toe. Luckily, people had been facing front, mostly, and so had probably not noticed his rather belated assumption of the pose.

"While I attempt to come up with something that you overachievers haven't already studied, you are to pair off." Snape snapped.

Around the room, pupils swirled - Harry actually hadn't a preference, and thus was slightly surprised when Malfoy wound up as his partner. Ron and Hermione had partnered together and they were both giving him sympathetic looks. As well they might - as 'nice' as Malfoy'd been acting (by which Harry meant that he was _sure_ Malfoy was _trying_ to act nice, he just wasn't terribly good at it. Lack of practice, probably.), he wouldn't go light on Harry. And, in Snape's class? He was likely to go as hard as possible, barring the Unforgivables.

Harry knew a lot of spells, but most of his training on Non-Ministry Approved Magicks was to strike first and get the hell out of the way. That... was probably a bad plan here and now, because most of those 'spells' he didn't want Malfoy - and by extension Tom - to know about. Malfoy had really done them all a favor by showing that Mark.

Of course, it was Harry's job to convince Hermione and Ron that it really was a good thing. He hoped he wasn't misreading the whole situation, somehow.

Snape straightened in front of the class, his notes once more in front of him. His eyes shot rapidfire across the room, seeming to register something with each pause.

"Why did you choose the partners you did?" Snape asked mildly, and some students were foolish enough to raise their hands.

"We're friends." Boot and his friend said. They were close enough to be holding hands, though Harry wouldn't have put it that way to their face.

"Good work ethic." Chang said, looking at Nott as she said it.

"I don't have to worry about messing up his face." Draco Malfoy drawled beside Harry Potter. Harry shot him a startled look, as Draco pretend-pouted, "_Someone_ broke it before me."

There were titters around the room at that - mostly Slytherins, but Parvati had been stifling a laugh too - as if concerned that someone would find her disloyal. After all the times that the Gryffindors had treated Harry that way, he honestly couldn't blame her.

"Today, we will work on teamwork. We shall start small, two by two." Snape purred, "Regrettably, that means that Mister Malfoy will not have the chance to disfigure Mister Potter's face. Today, at any rate." Snape _actually_ managed to sound regretful about that too, though anyone truly looking at him saw the sardonic smirk in his eye.

Snape started calling names. Harry and Malfoy found themselves in the "capable duelers" bracket - along with Hermione and Ron, and very, very far away from Neville and Marietta (how'd that pairing happen? The people nobody would pick?), and Crabbe and Goyle.

If Harry'd been paired with anyone else, he'd have been discussing strategy with them, or at least making snide but accurate comments about other pairings (getting Hermione to laugh in class was always a worthy goal). As it was, they both stood stiffly, warily eyeing each other at periodic intervals - which made them seem like two male cats strutting and about to square off.

There were things you did in a battle that you'd never dare do in class. Vice versa was also true. Here they were sending stinging hexes and Stupefies back and forth. In a real battle, the spellset would be more varied, and more tricksy to work with, but the true task here was shielding and unshielding - developing a rapport with your partner (uhhgh, _Malfoy_), and giving as good as you got.

By the end of class, everyone was dripping with sweat (some people had absolute rivers running down their backs), and Harry could see some of the more beauty conscious girls trying to unsweatify themselves, to varying degrees of success. He had to give plaudits to Chang, who conjured up a scent so intoxicating that everyone stopped thinking about anyone's scent other than hers.

Naturally, Snape stopped this entirely with a glare, as Change wilted, finiting her spell at once. Which was a shame, because everyone (except perhaps Snape and his Slytherins) would prefer intoxication to the nose-bending stench of human sweat.

Before they could leave, Snape snarled, "Anyone who has not learned the Patronus should consider themselves considerably behind the rest of the class. I had planned to spend the next month working on this, so my office hours are open if any want to make use of them to learn this valuable - and newt-level skill. I will not waste the class's time with lessons that most people already have perfected." At least Snape had that going over Umbridge, his lessons were always carefully selected to get the best out of the class.

Harry packed slowly, managing to stay behind, as Snape turned to him, and asked, "I trust you have reason to waste my precious time between classes, Potter? Rather than say, coming to see me during my office hours?"

"I had detention the last two nights." Harry said, meeting his eyes, "The second because you weren't there the first. And another one for tonight."

"Ah, one of my loyal followers, no doubt. Draco Malfoy?" Snape drawled.

Harry met that with a simple nod, saying, "I think I understand, now, why you wanted an illicit club... there's plenty of folks that are happy to get one over on you. Makes them try harder, I think."

Snape smirked smugly, and continued, "And a secret that needs to be kept can be much more easily kept from more people, not less. If I'd done half the mixing of Slytherins and Gryffindors in class, there'd be twenty owls off to Death Eaters and their pestulent ilk."

"What else?" Snape prompted.

"It's harder to shrug off and not study when it's your friends - people what didn't have to do it - teaching." Harry said decisively.

"That'll be why Ron Weasley has improved so much over the last year and a bit, no doubt." Snape said smoothly.

Harry nodded, and asked, softly, "Can you cast Unforgivables in the Room of Requirement without being reported?"

Snape sighed, cradled his head in his hands, "I don't even want to know why you're asking that." Snape saw Harry's mouth start to open, and viciously cut him off, "The answer's yes, by the way. If you abuse the privilege, I'll find out, and you'll pay." That last bit was said with such assurance that Harry didn't for a second doubt it.

"Are... are you okay, sir?" Harry asked, with a trace of a stutter.

In less than an eyeblink, Snape had his wand trained on Harry's eye, his entire form in battlestance, eyes narrowed as he growled, "Care to ask that again?"

Harry straightened, himself, into something that would naturally have fit a military man about to salute. "No, sir." He felt, at least a little, relieved. Snape couldn't be too terribly hurt if his reactions were that fast, could he? Harry Hoped Not, at least. How like Snape to simply shrug off an expression of concern...

"Your detention tonight will be moved to Friday." Snape said with a snap to his voice. "You are dismissed."

The DA was just an hour short of curfew tonight, and Harry was watching as Boot and his bud carried them through an intricate discussion of shield spells - oddly reflecting what they'd been working on in class, though Harry was as certain as he could be that neither of them had been tipped by Snape into pulling the class this way. Perhaps it was just the power of suggestion? Harry'd think higher of that idea if Snape was honestly hiding in the room (or, in this case, under the bleachers) and thus able to assess who his targets were.

As Harry and other senior DA members demonstrated spells (to be fair, Malfoy did as well, as did Nott - the two talented Slytherins, or at least the ones who didn't mind that someone else knew that they could do intricate magic), Harry's mind wandered back to Severus Snape. Try as he might to be reassured by what Snape'd flat out told him, he was concerned. Even worried.

_What_ could do that to Snape? Or was it a _who_?

And, alright, it wasn't just that Snape looked like a flattened piece of shite stuck to the ground after a whole bevy of trucks had rolled over it. It was that he wasn't eating. Harry'd spent enough time in the infirmary to know how quick magical folk could generally bounce back - but ... if you didn't eat, you didn't feed your magic.

And Snape wasn't eating.

By the time they finished for the night, it was minutes before curfew, and Draco Malfoy was sneeringly telling everyone, "Five minutes before I say go. Slytherins first, Gryffindors last. Don't let me catch you."

And, obscurely, Harry Potter had to smother a smile. Sometimes it was good to know someone playing both sides.

Walking back, Lavender Brown smiled at Harry Potter, and even tried to start up a conversation. It was so odd, that Harry really couldn't get more than a word out. To be perfectly fair, Lavender was the type to just keep talking, so not getting out a word turned out not to matter so much.

What was up with that?

Tuesday started out as a beast. It didn't seem to know how to get better from there, either.

Bad enough that Ron and Lavender were snogging at the breakfast table (couldn't even wait until people had eaten).

Worse, Hermione Granger was being ... well, catty. Insults and jibes that Ron would ordinarily just have laughed off, or at least said something to, falling flat on the table. It got to the point where Harry was considering actually saying something - anything, but, really, he had to ask himself - why bother?

It was just one of those days.

Classes were a chore, and it seemed like everything was colorless.

Harry hadn't a clue how he'd gotten into this depression - it surely wasn't the weather, bright actinic blue and glorious outside. Which just left him wanting a broomride - which would have been lovely if he'd had a free period.

Why hadn't he dropped Divination when he'd had the chance?

Harry knew that Hermione's classes met less often (they did give more homework, but at least that was on your _own_ time).

This was a bleary, dreary day where Harry wished he hadn't gotten up in the morning.

Harry'd thought he might be sick, but he didn't actually feel bad, not physically. Going up two flights and back down again just for the spur of it showed him that much.

It took till dinnertime until he realized what was coming, that was how squashed flat he was feeling. Luckily, no one seemed to pick up on it, so long as he laughed at strategic intervals, and played with his food. Maybe there was a reason some of the girls thought he was "brooding and moody" It turns out when an entire class worth of girls decides to stalk you, it's easy to pick up on minutiae, if you are quiet and know a bit about hiding. This brought the first trace of a smile that Harry'd had all day to his face.

Ginny wanted to talk with him after dinner, but Harry'd put her off, saying that he'd promised Hermione that he'd go practice with her. Gin looked like she wanted to be invited along, but Harry knew better than to put more than one Weasley in a room with Malfoy. There was pushing the envelope, and then there was social suicide.

Hermione Granger was waiting for Harry when he arrived at the Room of Requirement. He was convinced she made the whole room brighter just by standing in it. He moved closer to her, as if he could suck up some of the colors simply by being near her.

"Harry, you aren't looking so well - are you sick?" Hermione asked, her warm brown eyes filled with that simple compassion she always seemed to master.

"Hardly." Harry Potter said laconically. "Up and down multiple flights of stairs, and not even winded."

"Well, then what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her hands on her hips. Demanding, not asking, as if she had the right... Well, in a large way, she did, Harry thought contemplatively.

"Dunno, I just... Did you ever wonder what would be, if the world was black and white? I kind of feel like that..." Harry said, "Not in my eyes, I mean," Harry tapped his temple, "In here."

"It sounds like you're... depressed, Harry." Hermione said warmly, the color in her voice a sharp contrast to his flatness.

"Oh. Is that bad?" Harry asked, glad, at least, that he could finally put a word to what he was feeling.

"It can be. Were you thinking about anything that made you sad?" Hermione asked.

"No. And... I don't feel sad. I don't feel anything." Harry Potter said.

"Well, look lively, and we'll see about waking you up!" Hermione said with a more manic grin.

Draco Malfoy ambled in, with a swagger worthy of John Wayne (how he managed to pull that off without Wayne's shoulders, Harry had _no_ idea). "Alright, are you two ready?" Malfoy's grin was sly, and promised not just danger, but ... things that Harry knew he wasn't equipped right now to face.

"Let's just wait for Ron..." Harry Potter said slowly, lowly. He was honestly feeling flat enough that even having Malfoy around felt better. Maybe once Ron showed up, he'd be able to... wake up, just a bit more.

That thought brought coffee from the Room, and Harry drank it hastily, looking at both of them.

"What's wrong with him?" Malfoy asked Granger, and Harry struggled to actually feel the umbrage that he knew would normally come.

"Depressed. Leeg, like he's missing emotions or something." Hermione Granger said, and Draco Malfoy looked over at Harry with some surprise.

"What in Merlin's good name have you been practicing?" Malfoy asked.

Harry Potter just answers with a laconic shrug, "Dunno what you're thinking, but probably not that."

From a point near the door, Ron laughed, and it came out cold. "What, him practice? Are you sure you aren't the one poppin' something?"***

"What's he doing here, anyway?" Malfoy said directing it toward Granger, "Don't tell me, he came to get a piece of me." Malfoy's eyes sparkled with malice, as he looked over at Ron and said, "Hey-lo, sugar," batting his eyelashes at Ron Weasley.

For a wonder, Ron just plain _ignored_ Malfoy's baiting, turning to look at Harry. "You're right, though, he doesn't look... right." Ron pivoted, piercing eyes suddenly hard, "Why do you care, anyway? Since when?"

Malfoy balanced on his heels, lacing his hands behind his back, "Oh, I don't - not like that, at any rate. If he's too dumb to fight, well, I don't think it'd be quite the wise move for me to murder Harry Potter."

"You mean to fight for real, or nearly so." Hermione Granger said, her voice the melodious sound of reason.

Draco Malfoy merely looked over and nodded.

"Alright," Harry said, nearly growling it, though there wasn't a trace of anger in his voice, making it sound grim and bleak. "Wake Me Up."

Draco Malfoy responded with a razor thin smile, his wand in his hand before he'd even assumed battle stance.

Harry Potter knew the practical way to settle the fighting children. Do what they came here for. As they fought, he slipped more into the "on the tiptoes of your feet" mental stance, slowly - ever so slowly - bringing himself out from the doldrums where he had been buried.

By the time the fights were ended, they were half bruised (luckily little blood, and most of it concealable. "Shite, Lavender's going to think I..." Ron muttered at the end, and Hermione gave him a deadly glare. _What was that about_, Harry thought, as he dressed his wounds with the practiced hand of an old soldier. Malfoy was more of a brat about it, of course, bemoaning every fresh bruise on his pale skin. Of course, they would show up more distinctly on it.

With a bit of spring in his step, Harry walked back to the Tower, humming, "Hey Jude." Harry hadn't listened to much music at the Dursleys, but when the car radio was on, it was always an oldies channel, and so, despite no conscious effort, he'd had nearly a hundred songs memorized. He'd liked the songs he'd heard, too. He wished there was more music at Hogwarts. Hell, music might even make a Slytherin smile.

*Snape's not using the front gates, which are humongous. He's using a postern, which is much more reasonable for one person.

**it's striking, in that it's firm and decisive, but it's a glide - he touches first with his toes, and then with his heels, and always, always as silent as possible.

***Ron's talking about popping potions. Sorry if the slang doesn't come across well.


	16. Book Emergency

Harry and Ron had been heading up to Divination, when Harry heard Malfoy's slow drawl - "Granger" it said. It was a tone that made his nerves prick, and he was a half step slow behind Ron. And then a full step. And then, Harry slipped into the darkened corridor, heading towards the hallway between Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

He heard Pansy's shrill giggle next, and the feeling of dread in his gut swelled. _He has an audience, lovely._

"What's a matter, Mudblood? Can't find a proper bit of thread?" Pansy's voice cut, hard like diamond, sharp like silken thread.

"You'd think you'd be able to recognize your betters - by the cut of our jib, if nothing else." Malfoy drawled.

"That implies that she's not willfully blind, doomed to dig in the mud like the swine that she really is." Pansy giggled at this, as Harry drew close, his wand already drawn.

"We're all wearing the same uniform," Hermione said, stamping her foot - she'd have crossed her arms except they were covered in books.

"That's where you're wrong," Malfoy drawled, "Of course, you're too proud of your inferiority to ever admit that you are wrong. Rather a complex if you think about it." _Shite, _Harry thought, _I hate it when Malfoy starts talking sense._

It sounded like the whole thing was breaking up, as Hermione Granger said, "Get out of my way." in the tone that said punching was the next recourse. Even Malfoy didn't have that much masochism in him today, apparently.

The Slytherins walked by - Harry, still unseen, got a wicked grin on his face. Leaning out, he cast silently - and turned Pansy Parkinson's stockings red and gold.

Pity it wouldn't hold. He'd have loved to see the look on Hermione's face.

It was a rare thing for Ron and Harry to arrive in the library without Hermione basically dragging them there. And so the look on Hermione's face was sheer surprise, followed shortly by delight. "There you are! You really should get started on your-" Hermione started in, her eyes alight with passion.

Harry smothered a grin as he sat down; Ron sat down with more of a thump, his face stormy in a way that presaged war. Harry didn't move for any books, and just waited until Ron started to speak.

When he did, it was like a firehose - rough and fast.

"What is up with Malfoy?" Ron hissed, his bright eyes nearly slits in his face.

"What, you mean...?" Hermione asked, and Harry thought back to what he'd seen earlier. Surely Malfoy hadn't taunted Ron about Hermione's lack of fashion sense...?

"He seemed like he actually cared." Ron said, half laughing brokenly, like some sort of mangled doll, "That's a crock, right?"

Harry Potter shrugged languidly, saying softly, "Maybe he does care."

Both Gryffindors trained shocked eyes on him, and Hermione said with venom, "But he's such an arrogant, prejudiced prat!"

"Maybe," Harry said softly, and he could see Hermione's brain starting to whirl. "He doesn't go out of his way to pick on anyone but us, you know that, right?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Ron asked, his anger half hooded in confusion.

"Caring." Harry said, letting the word drop. "He cares what we think about him, because he tries to influence it. Goes out of his way to."

"Goes out of his way to make us hate him?" Hermione asked calmly, her eyes wide. It was clear that Hermione had never even dreamed of someone that twisted. Not in her entire life, or all the books she'd read.

"So, he cares." Harry said, his mouth quirking into a smile that came out more like a smirk. "Now the question is - what lies inside that caring?"

"Hate?" "Snobbishness?" "Arrogance?" Both his friends answered at once, their answers overlapping as they poured them out.

"It might be hate," Harry said, knitting his fingers together under the table. "It might not. But whatever it is, it relates to us, in particular." And Harry was not going to mention Malfoy kissing Granger. He could see some vestige of that knowledge on the edge of Hermione's face; most of her was still thinking about hate, though. Which was fine with him, he wasn't about to try to solve the riddle that was Draco Malfoy. Acknowledging that there was a riddle was quite enough for him, thank you very much.

Harry had arrived early to DA practice, and with him had come half the Gryffindors, if not more. The Hufflepuffs had arrived early too, and Harry thought he'd seen Draco Malfoy off strutting about, proud as a duckling with his Inquisitor's Badge. Or whatever Snape was calling the damned quislings.

_Perfect_, Harry Potter thought, with a sly smile that he took care to not let reach his face. "Oi, do you remember the time Snape decided I needed detention for taking a library book outside?"

"Oh, what did you get for that one?" Colin Creevey asked.

"Dissecting mugworts and devenoming fanged snails."

"Oh, I can top that one," Susan Bones put in, "Snape decided that my purple Strengthening potion was a dash too pink, and gave me detention for a week!"

"He never gives me detention, I just get that look." Hermione put in, aping it to the laughter of everyone around. "You know, the one that says you're lower than dirt, and don't deserve to be in his classroom." _Harry wanted to chuckle at that one, wanted to see the look on Hermione's face if she ever figured out what Snape truly thought of her. But no._

"Do you remember when I had to dissect shrivelfigs for their seeds?" Harry put in.

"Oh, yeah, you got that one for breathing!" Ron said.

"To be fair," Harry said with some chagrin, "I did have a cold, so I was breathing rather loudly."

Neville, who had been doing his usual 'hide in plain sight', spoke up, "Here's one. My first year, Snape pulls me aside after class, shuts and locks the door. Then he casts a silencing spell, and that's when I know I'm in for it. Because that means that he doesn't want anyone to hear. And he sits there, studying me with that hawklike nose of his, and those beady black eyes." Harry had to fight to not chuckle at that, it was a description they all knew well.

"And then he starts in on me, laying in - calling me half a dozen things you'd figure he'd not know about. And it's not enough to call me names, no - he's got examples for every single one of them. So it's truth he's using, not a shred of exaggeration. Calling me a coward - reminding me of when I hunkered away from Malfoy. Calling me a failure - reminding me that I never did manage the first transfiguration spell." Harry was starting to shift a bit uncomfortably - he hadn't _actually_ expected something quite this soul-baring - it was tough just listening to it, tough not to get angry.

"I'm not saying a word, mind. Listening, yes, but not saying anything." Neville says, "And I know that this is getting to him, because he finishes listing my faults, and then looks at me and asks sharply, "Well?!" "

"And I say, as solid as stone, "Are you going to expel me, sir? Since I'm such a failure?" Snape whirls, stalking off and then coming back, and he's looming over me, and he says, in a voice soft as silk, "You, Mister Longbottom, are no _fun_." "

And the Gryffindors are laughing at that, Hermione giggling out, "he sounds just like what Malfoy might say," - and the Hufflepuffs are laughing too, but the Slytherins are exchanging uneasy glances, perhaps unsure about hearing about this side of their Head of House. He's well known to beat up on Potter, of course, and to some extent on the rest of the Gryffindors - but this exchange? It hints at more. Much more.

Serves the bloody bastard right if he's listening in, Harry Potter thinks with a vengeance, glad when the Ravenclaws come in and start to teach.

Was there ever a time, Harry Potter thought with some chagrin, that he'd actually managed a full semester without wandering Hogwarts' halls at night?

And so it was today as well, walking up and down the halls, up the staircases that were never the same on the way down. It had been something Neville had said, just a hint of truth - a pulling back of lies; of what Snape pretended to be. For the cheerless disciplinarian didn't understand the concept of fun. Was that what he'd been like? Enjoying riling, getting a rise out of his... Gryffindor friend? It was almost hard to credit - and yet, Harry'd seen the evidence himself. For hadn't all of his training been a cruel trick, if a brutal and necessary one? That wasn't the action of someone uncaring... that was certainly not the action of dour, dreary Snape. Who was this man, who had been his teacher, once?

And then another thought came to his mind. Malfoy - was he, as Snape, the type who enjoyed riling people up? Was that his idea of fun? A game?!

Harry'd felt real hatred. Or at least it had been the closest a preteen could come to it, or so he'd believed at the time. Now, though... Harry couldn't imagine what Neville felt towards Bellatrix Black, had always felt. Rage internalized, rage restrained, rage bound. No, for all the hatred? he'd felt towards the Malfoy brat, it wasn't nearly the rich poison green of Neville's hatred. Wasn't even the fury he held towards Pettigrew, or towards Tom Riddle, even.

He'd been young then, and hadn't looked back, not once. It was easy to carry on a hate, to pull it beyond where it would naturally have extended. Perhaps that was what Malfoy had been doing as well - or perhaps, it had never been hatred at all for him. Harry solidly hoped that Malfoy hadn't meant to be friendly. Both because it had hurt, badly, and because... because Harry didn't want to pity the blond. He'd rather punch him than apologize, and figured Malfoy was that way too.

-It was just a flicker-

Out of the corner of his eye.

flat on the floor, harry looked up, his magic coiling around his hands.

Snape, skeletal still, his wand already casting - his movements ossified to the point of sharpness - bones clattering, instead of muscles tugging and bending.

A figure out of nightmare.

A figure out of the deepest night.

Harry's magic lept alive, as he rolled, the shield wrapped around him like a bivouac, a bivvy sack shimmering white as it took the spells.

"Stupefy" Harry hissed, his left hand sketching the picture-rune.

Snape shielded, and, with his wand and his right hand, Harry sent back a petrify.

"Expelliarmus." Snape hissed, and Harry realized that this entire battle was being conducted at a whisper.

On and on they went, whirling up and down stairwells, into and out of classrooms, leaving a trail of unintentional destruction in their wake.

Finally, Harry called, "Hold" his body straining for more air.

"The Sandman will have his due." Snape said, stretching to the point where Harry could hear a few joints pop, "After, that is, you finish repairing the damages." Snape's eyes, ever sharp, rested on Harry - somehow softly, like a blade turned flat against skin. Dangerous, but, momentarily, not a threat.

With a slight sigh, Harry Potter got to work, trying not to let himself wonder about the points.

Harry Potter woke the next morning bruised and a dash battered. And then promptly thought of fried chicken. With a skill that most Wizarding Children never learned, Harry dressed swiftly and silently, heading outside for a run to limber himself up. He liked the solitude, the burning feel in his muscles as he pushed himself, not to speed but to endurance - that ground-eating wolfish lope that was his father's father's father's ancestral gift to him. For millenia, man had been runners - bred not for speed, but to hunt and chase - the long, long run that made your prey's heart break from stress alone.

No prey to hunt today, but the joy of the run was not in the ending, but in the journey itself. Harry was not surprised when he saw in a bit of mud, three large footprints appearing - heading the other way. They looked big enough to be Snape's feet - though with wizarding footwear, it was hard to tell, as they lacked the distinctive traction of sneakers.

As the miles leapt on, Harry found himself relieved that it was morning, as false dawn faded into true. He wasn't in trouble, incredibly enough, for being outside on this fair morning. Deep inside himself, he reminded himself of all the horrors that had been about Hogwarts at night, and had to concede - deep in his heart where truth lurked on the best of days, and scalded like the sun on the worst - that the teachers had their reasons for wanting students safe abed.

* * *

Snape's class. For once, Harry'd managed to slip out of active duty, sitting on the sidelines, watching the melee. The Slytherins were surprisingly good at working together, though every move was slipshod at best. It was the look of people learning, actively learning, how to work together. The Gryffindors had more practice, and the ones on the field moved as one - like a large turtle, slow and steady, but with a snap that would take a finger off if you let it. The Slytherins, though - they were reacting less to other groups, and more to each other. Like each and every had a weather eye on the next person - and they were adjusting, accommodating each other. It was like watching a leaderless pack, where first one and then another would take over - and everyone else would bend around them. It was still forming, too, Harry could sense that. But there was a reason he'd work so well with Malfoy last class period, and it _hadn't_ been him. That had been Malfoy, working as his second, ceding the lead and the control entirely. At some point, Harry thought, he was going to have to talk with Malfoy. Harry Potter wasn't looking forward to that, not the least of which was that Malfoy could be prickly, and it was difficult to get information out of him in the first place, let alone if he was trying to hide it. In the main, though, Harry Potter felt wary. Malfoy used words like weapons, and knew how to make them cut deep. Talking to the ice-blond was an invitation to bleed.

As Harry watched, he had a different thought than any that he saw on the field. He'd try it out next study session, hopefully.

Harry went to the room of requirement at the end of the day, with Hermione and Ron on either side of him - their petty, merry bickering feeling much more like home than the Dursleys' had ever felt. Harry opened the door to find no one there, and they stood inside, waiting, a good ten minutes. "Ron... " Harry started, and - to his surprise - Hermione interupted.

She said, "Ron, I know Snape said you weren't to teach us anything... but can you at least show us what you've learned?" Harry nearly boggled at this, it was a smooth, easy ploy - scratch his ego before telling him to shove off so they could really practice. If what Snape said was true, Ron wouldn't be able to learn the way they had, so...

"You'll have to cast some spells at me," Ron said, his irrepressible grin peeking out of his serious face.

"Done." Harry and Hermione echoed each other, as their wands were drawn.

Harry cast almost on automatic, letting his feet and his wand and his mouth take over, as his mind was astounded at what Ron was _doing_. He had to know a thousand different spells, and there was no reasoning, no pattern to his use of any of them. Just _what_ had they been teaching Ron this summer? **

* * *

Thursday was the morning that owls came to Hogwarts. Dozens of them, flying from every direction. And they were all school owls. All to the Slytherin table, where the students looked suspiciously pale-faced. Except for Malfoy, of course, his face was always that color. The letters that they bore were wrapped with a single cord, silver and green braided together. Not a sigil, not a seal. Just that simple cord.

Goyle and Crabbe gave small, soft sighs as they read theirs. Millicent gave a grim smile. Malfoy, though, his eyes narrowed, and he shot a venomous glare at ... the Head Table. Specifically, to Severus Snape. Harry's green eyes tracked the blond's grey, finding Snape at the end, his eyebrow raised in a subtle sort of challenge. _The Detentions!_ Harry thought, inwardly exulting to find Malfoy, of all people, getting punished by _Snape_. From the look on Malfoy's face, the punishment would not be easy.* Nott and Pansy looked irate - ten shades redder than Malfoy ever got, no matter how upset he was. Well, ever since second year, at any rate. Had Malfoy _really_ meant to call Hermione a mudblood?

Friday had dawned wet. It was cool, but not cold, and Harry had grinned at the feeling of water on his feet as he ran through the grass in the morning. He was dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt, and probably was breaking about a hundred different dress codes. Not that it mattered, he was outside, and well before most people woke up anyway.

Not to mention, he'd change before heading back inside. He had a key to the Quiddich shed anyway, and yesterday's robes were inside.

He hadn't liked the feeling he'd gotten on Wednesday, when he was short of breath after ny jthree trips round , he hadn't liked it at all. Harry was reminded of how light on his feet Snape had been - running quietly alongside Harry, seemingly uncaring of the miles they ate under their feet.

After the fifth circuit, Harry'd completely stopped looking for Snape, though some deep instinct of his own told him that the Professor was doing laps as well. Harry was glad he wasn't trying to do the invisibility thing - his cloak was hot, and he didn't know any spells for true invisibility.

As he ran, he reviewed the day's potion (luckily, Snape hadn't shredded his Potions syllabus). He let his feet make impressions, as he came upw ith motions to cue himself on the various cutting methods. By the end, it looked like he was doing the twist. Harry could only hope his memory aids would actually work in class. Well, that and that he'd remember to not actually start singing "Twist Again!"

Because singing in Potions class sounded like a sure ticket to an entire month's detention.

* * *

"Mister Potter, you are disturbing the rest of the class." Snape solemnly intoned, "If you cannot manage to control yourself, you may complete the potion outside of class."

Harry fought not to wince, and instead just covered his face with his hand. _I don't even know what I did wrong. Wait... use that. _Harry's eyes flashed killing green, as he belted abruptly into Snape's looming face, "I don't even _know_ what I did wrong!"

"You've wasted enough of the class's time, Potter. You are dismissed, and you will have detention tonight at seven." Snape drawled slowly, and it was only after Harry was out of the room entirely that he realized that he'd actually been assigned the same detention _twice_.

Ron and Harry were coming out of Divination, going down the flights of stairs towards the Great Hall. They weren't expecting Hermione to lunge into their path, her brown eyes blazing. "Hermione?" Harry ventured cautiously, remembering the last time Hermione's eyes had been that _particula_r shade of dark chocolate - the one with habaneros in it. Blood had been shed, after all.

"Ron, Harry - With me. Now." Hermione said, stalking off at the longest pace her short legs could carry her at, as if she was imitating Snape. Ron and Harry exchanged a look, and followed at a trot.

Three turns down the hall, and Hermione turned into a classroom. "It's Snape." Hermione ground out, and Harry allowed himself to relax, just a bit. Hermione's hands were twisting her skirts in her agitation, as she said, "I heard him today, with Pince." It was only then that Harry noticed she'd completely neglected to say Professor.

Harry's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, as he asked, "What did he say? What did Snape do?!" It took next to no effort to fuel his rage - anything that got Hermione Granger this worked up was bound to be significant.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, her warm brown eyes catching his, "He's trying to ban books! Books from the library!"

"What... kind of books?" Harry ventured, over Ron's, "What a git."

"Defense against the Dark Arts." Hermione said with a stomp. "Only Madame Pince looked, well, pinched and annoyed."

Ron said, "Isn't that her usual expression?"

"No! Not to me, at any rate." Hermione snapped back, "She said that she'd put them somewhere for safekeeping - in the morning."

"So... she doesn't really want to...?" Harry asked, trying to keep up with it.

"Yeah! And I'm not about to let Snape ban the best books from the library!" Hermione said, stamping her foot. Shite, no wonder she was so outraged. And... banning _defense_ books? Harry would be lying if he said he didn't smell a rat. But why would Snape need to manipulate Hermione? She'd study the books by herself if ... if they didn't have their study sessions.

"What can we do?" Harry asked, trying to look frustrated and sympathetic, and not like he wanted to start cackling at Snape's shenanigans.

"All three of us are going to abscond off with the books. Snape put them up in the center of Madame Pince's round desk. All we have to do is distract her."

Ron responded, "How do we do that?"

"Book Emergency" Harry and Hermione volunteered at once.

Hermione continued, "I can do it. Then you two can grab the books from Pince's desk."

And then what?" Harry prompted, "I'm not putting them into my dorm room. Snape'd really chew my hide for that, evne if he wanted them hid."

"In the Room of Requirement. We can use them to study ... at our study sessions."

Somehow, helping a fuming Hermione hide books in the Room of Requirement had turned into sharing Ron's pain at listening to a furious Hermione making timetables and schedules.

Harry Potter had, previous to this point, no bloody idea that it was possible to be rageful whilst scribbling timetables.

They just... seemed so dry.

But, as all good pyromaniacs will tell you, that just meant that they were more combustible. Which, when Hermione Granger was upset, was never a good thing.

Harry pulled himself away from his thoughts to lunge at the current scrap of parchment that was being needlessly endangered by the lightning spluttering from Hermione's frizzy hair.

"Erm. Maybe I could write the schedules, while you do the thinking, Hermione?" Harry asked awkwardly.

* * *

It had been over an hour, and Harry's hand was going numb. Hermione hadn't wanted to have everyone in their study group doing the same spell, so she'd split them up by houses (so that people could study with their friends while they weren't there), and Ron was just starting to argue that they shouldn't teach the Slytherins unforgivables. Harry, stretching his cramped hand, failed to see Ron going pale across from him.

So when Severus Snape spoke, in that slithery, feline voice, right above Harry's shoulder, Harry sprang to his feet in surprise, his wand already half out. "Mister Potter" was all that Snape'd said, and Harry was already starting to blush, when Snape drawled, "I wouldn't, if I were you, Mister Potter." Harry let his wand drop to the table with a clatter, "Need I remind you that attacking a Professor is grounds for expulsion?"

Harry, slumping into his seat, looked over his shoulder at Snape, saying gruffly, "No."

"Still no respect for your superiors, I see." Snape drawled, "Are you planning on skiving off from your detention too?"

"No, I am not." Harry grit through his teeth.

"Then follow along, and quickly." Snape said, disappearing towards the front of the library in a swirl of black cloth.

"D' y' suppose he knows that his detention is in a good half hour?" Ron asked.

"Undoubtedly," Hermione growled back, "and it's only fifteen minutes from the library to his office."

Harry's eyes glinted, as he growled, "I told you he was out to get me." before he hurried off, his hurriedly stuffed bag uncomfortable on one of his shoulders. This had to be the first time Harry'd ever been looking forward to a detention. Snape not waiting for the scheduled time meant _something_ was up. Harry'd just not figured out what... _yet_.

Snape was perfectly silent - not a footstep, not a word, not anything, until they were both inside his office. At which point he cast spells, and yet more spells, and, after the last spell was cast, he keyed a ward that looked more complicated that Harry had ever seen before.

By this point, Harry was starting to wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into. Was it Order Business? Something else entirely?

"Now, you wanted to speak to me." Snape said, lacing his hands.

"How did you-"

"Your mind, Potter" Snape said coldly, "If you do not close it, it leaks. Yours, in particular, leaks _loudly_."

Harry shuffled his feet, and tried to grasp the words to an apology that would actually be sincere.

"Now, hurry up and talk, as you're going to serve an actual detention today."

"But I haven't-" Harry said.

"Done anything?" Snape snarled. "I believe the operative word there is _yet_. You can serve an a priori detention then."

Harry Potter's jaw dropped, and he started to say - well, he wasn't really sure what, as Snape interrupted, "As you'll undoubtedly do something to deserve detention within the next twenty four hours, it won't even be that much in advance." Snape looked down his long nose at Harry, and said, "It's not like I'm punishing you for something that you'll do after _Christmas_." Harry ruefully admitted that he had no clue how Snape managed to make Christmas sound like a curse, but somehow he managed.

"What do you know that I don't?"

"Plenty of things. As it so happens, it is relatively unimportant that there is an unexpected visitor arriving at Hogwarts tommorrow."

"If the visitor's unexpected, how do you know about it?"

"Certain people are dreadfully predictable." Snape snarked with his deadpan face.

"Care to tell me who it is?" Harry shot back, eyes flashing.

"Hm." Snape said, lacing his hands together, "I could, but why should I - when not telling you will leave you on tenterhooks for most of the day?"

"That's not fair!" Harry Potter shot back.

"Live so rarely is." Snape responded, looking implacable.

Harry crossed his arms and tried a different tack, "You are so unbelievably petty." He was glad that he managed to make that sound ... strong and insulting, rather than whining and upset.

"I'm nearly never petty without a good point." Snape countered.

Well now, that was an idea. "You know that someone's coming to Hogwarts - but you don't think I could guess, or you'd have told me." Harry said slowly, "But... I am certain to do some form of wrongdoing in the next twenty-four hours - not to the level of being expelled, but merely getting detention."

Snape nodded slowly, his eyes sharp.

"Is Victor Krum coming to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, getting excited almost despite himself.

"No. I knew you wouldn't possibly guess." Snape said, looking smug.

Harry paced around the room for a few minutes, thinking hard. He was vaguely surprised that Snape let him move around like that - I mean, sure, Snape liked to pace himself, but he was the teacher. Finally, Harry shook his head, "Alright, I give up."

"Now, you did have something you wanted to talk with me about, Potter?" Snape countered.

"Yes, I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind coming up with some more duties for Draco Malfoy." Harry Potter said.

"Oh?" Snape responded, "What kind of duties?"

Hrm. Harry thought furiously, having not really have thought about that before, "Maybe more patrols? Having him in the room during our... study sessions puts everyone on edge. And he's less likeable than most of the other Slytherins."

Snape nodded slowly, "And you'd really like to actually practice wandless magic with Miss Granger?"

Harry wheeled around, his bright green eyes wide as he realized that Snape had just admitted to something. Granted, it wasn't a big thing, or something that Harry hadn't expected, but still. "Erm. Yes, sir." Crap. then he _knew_ about the _stupid_ prank that Harry had pulled.

"On the contrary, that prank wasn't stupid at all." Snape said, and Harry started, belatedly realizing that Snape had simply responded to something that Harry was _thinking_. Man, that was totally creepy. "I always appreciate the chance to see how I am perceived from as many eyes as possible. It allows me to finetune the act, so to speak."

"So, you _want_ people to think of you as mildly terrifying?" Harry asked, adding "Sir" on the end just to try and not sound so cheeky.

"If they didn't, do you _honestly_ think the Weasleys would study at all?" Snape said. "Nobody takes Professor Sprout seriously, which is mostly fine. Herbology isn't generally a dangerous subject. Potions, on the other hand..." Snape looked grim.

"You've seen it, haven't you?" Harry prompted. "Potions accidents."

"Permanent ones, yes." Snape said, "Some even lethal. Others precipitated by me."

Harry was wide-eyed at that. Just staring at Snape. "You... you... what?!"

"Repeat that to anyone and you'll regret it." Snape said, his eyes sparkling, though his lips were pulled down into a scowl.

"Understood, sir." Harry crisply responded back.

At this point, Harry had something he wanted to ask - that'd been curled up inside his brain (thankfully) until now. And yet, he didn't know quite how to phrase it. So, Harry sat there, thinking.

"Well? Out with it, Potter." Snape demanded.

"Why'd you force Hermione Granger to steal the books? You know if you asked her to, she'd have read whatever you thought was best." Harry inquired cautiously.

"Of course she would have," Snape said with a snort, "Her incessant pursuit of myriad veins of knowledge was never in dispute."

"You... You wanted her _angry_." Harry advanced.

"Not particularly." Snape sniffed, "What I wanted, and what I got, was one Hermione Granger that no one is going to dare cross."

Harry simply looked at Snape.

"How often does your friend Weasley shrug off Granger, when she says you really ought to study?" Snape inquired, "For that matter, how often do you?"

Harry's face twisted into a scowl, "Often enough to regret it now."

"Exactly." Snape sniffed, "So, a righteous, sanctimonious Hermione Granger - one willing to bestow dire consquences if ignored - was precisely what your little study group needs."

"How are you constantly one step ahead?" Harry nearly whispered. It was, in a way, nearly awe-inspiring. The level of careful, meticulous manipulation to get Hermione Granger to the point where she was fire and fury...

"It helps when no one else even realizes there's a game." Snape said. "You'll find the game increases dramatically in complexity with more players."

"Now, as to your detention..." Snape drawled, and Harry suppressed a groan. "I will be creating four potions of extreme volatility and contagion."

"Contagion?" Harry Potter prompted, as he'd never even heard the word used with regard to potions.

"Put the brewing of two of them too close together, and they'll explode." Snape said, leaning over Harry Potter.

"Oh." Harry said in a small voice. He was always learning things, even if they weren't always pleasant ones.

"I will be completing one in each tower of Hogwarts." Snape said, "You will be pulling live cattails from the Lake and bringing them to me. You will do so as quickly as possible, and without casting a single spell while holding them."

"But... but won't I get... everything... muddy?" Harry stammered, a bit conflicted about telling Snape the obvious hole in argument.

"You'd better be quick enough to avoid Argus Filch, then, hadn't you?"

Snape's smug look was mocking, as Harry Potter said gloomily, "Yes sir."

"Don't think I didn't notice you panting after your laps." Snape said smoothly, before turning and heading up to check on his potions.

Harry, glumly, headed outside to the Black Lake. His clothes were going to be ruined. It was easy enough to clean dirt off, but this was muck and this was stink.

Up and down and Up and down, and Up and down, with those cattails trying to curlaround his arms, again and again and again. Every step a squelch, with sounds of splurt splort splat as gobbets of thick black mud dripped onto the floor at random intervals.

*Understatement! Care to guess what's in store for Mister Malfoy?

**I had to do _something_ with Ron. The way the books do it, he's cannon fodder at best. More to come, feel free to guess while you can.


	17. Lucius Malfoy

Harry was almost done with his detention, which was a good thing as it was nearing curfew. He'd even managed to see Snape inside one of the laboratories - Snape hadn't said a word to Harry, but he hadn't needed to, either. Harry'd seen from the slight tension of Snape's frame as he came in the door, that Snape knew perfectly well that he was there.

"Last batch." Harry stated clearly (leaving off the sir as they weren't completely in private. Harry descended the steps (for what seemed like the twentieth time, but which was actually the twenty-fourth. Harry'd gotten his second wind somewhere around the fifth, though, so it hadn't been as bad as it could have been.)**

As he left the room, Harry stared downward in horror, not at his feet (which where hopeless, not to mention soaked and starting to feel like they burned***), but at the staircase below. It was completely covered in mud - Harry'd somehow managed to hit the bannister even, and that was without using it!

The voice of experience in his head said, "This is going to take _forever_ to clean." This was followed shortly by, "but at least I don't have to clean it."

Somehow, on Harry's way down, he'd managed to be near Filch's actual rooms (which, granted, he hadn't known where they were to avoid them) - at the exact moment that Filch emerged. Or, at least, tried to emerge.

Instead of actually emerging, he stood with his jaw dropped, and mouthed words that Harry was sure he shouldn't say. Heck, he was sure Filch shouldn't say them either. There might be firsties about, after all. Harry considered running, except... from personal experience, that would be taken as evidence of guilty, and Harry sure wasn't responsible for all this. He'd had orders, and he'd let Filch deal with the responsible party. Or, at least, that was the goal. Harry hoped to hell this worked, because the look on Filch's face strongly suggested he wouldn't be joking about thumbscrews this time.

Finally, Filch's mouth closed, and his burning eyes found Harry Potter. "Potter! Did you do this!"

"Yes, sir. My detention, sir." Harry Potter said, and Filch's spare, thin face reddened to the point of being brighter than Ron's hair.

"Ah, Filch, there you are." Snape said, in a disturbingly friendly voice, appearing from a cross-hallway.

"Professor Snape! Would you happen to know how Mister Potter has managed to coat the entire floor and most of the walls in stinking mud?"*

"I would, in fact." Snape said, smirking.

"Well? How did he manage such a feat? Lad _claims_ it was his detention..." Filch said skeptically, giving Snape the hairy eyeball.

"And so it was," Snape said, moving through the muck without hesitation. "As a rather fortunate coincidence," Harry swore he saw Snape's eyes twinkling, "I happen to have some other detentions tomorrow morning."

Filch looked marginally happier, as if this was a normal thing, and he could see something coming that Harry Potter couldn't. "Izzat a fact, sir?"

"Indeed," Snape said, "How would you like to take tonight and all of Saturday off?"

"That would be most agreeable, sir." Filch said, and tried to look happy. It was a foreign look on his face, in so far as Harry had ever seen it. But then again, it looked like he was always on duty, and cleaning up after an entire castle - seven floors, plus the dungeons, plus the towers on top? That was not a job that was exactly easy.

"Tomorrow, my Slytherins will learn how to clean without magic." Snape purred, his eyes sparkling.

"I'll have the mops ready," Filch said.

"Bring a toothbrush as well," Snape responded.

"Is someone cleaning the Owlry then?" Filch asked, excited. As far as Harry knew, no one had _ever_ cleaned the Owlry. Though it probably wasn't entirely Filch's fault, as owl droppings were everywhere, giving the delightful crunching feel of small bones breaking under your feet, whenever you went through there.

"Indeed." Snape said, "Potter, return to your dormitory at once."

"No sooner said than done." Harry Potter said, hurrying off before either of them could come up with something else for him to do... after curfew. Besides, he wanted to be up early to see the looks on the Slytherins' faces! This was going to be _good_.

Harry had made his way hurriedly back to Gryffindor Tower, somewhat surprised to see that Ron wasn't waiting for him. He'd always seemed convinced that Snape would _eat_ Harry or something. Then again, with his temper, it was an actual possibility... Or so Harry'd thought, last year and before. Given that, was it any wonder that his friends felt similarly?

Hermione was... waiting for him in the Common Room - by which Harry meant that she'd fallen asleep with a book in her lap, "Hermione," he said softly, shaking her shoulder and watching her curly locks ripple with the motion.

"Wha-?"

"Time for bed."

"Oh, good." Hermione said, snuggling back into the couch.

Rolling his eyes, Harry shook her a bit harder, and Hermione blinked awake. "Oh, there you are! I must have fallen asleep or something."

"Let's get to bed. Detention was exhausting." Harry said gently.

"What did he have you do?"

"Fetch-n-carry from the Black Lake, as you can see." Harry looked down ruefully at his still muddy shoes. He'd known how to fix his robes to stop dripping, but the boots themselves were being stubborn.

"Hmm..." Hermione said, stretching back into a yawn. "I think I know a spell for that..." About five spells later, the boots were gleaming.

"I can always count on you, Hermione!" Harry said, grinning. "Now, off to bed."

"Oh, you!" Hermione said, stomping her foot with a trace of a grin.

* * *

Harry Potter was up at the crack of dawn, remembering the spell that had finally worked for Hermione, and casting it on his boots three times until he had the motion exactly right. Then it was his invisibility cloak, and down the stairs to the Slytherin entrance to the dungeons. Not that he was standing at the entrance - he'd found a nice alcove, because he absolutely wanted to see their faces when the Slytherins saw the mess they had to clean!

As if on cue, Severus Snape's voice echoed down the hallways, "You will all be assigned a wing, a tower, or in Draco Malfoy's case, the owlry. Cleaning will be done without magic, no exceptions."

Snape swept up the stairs without pausing (understandably, as he'd seen the fetid, stinking mud the night before), but Pansy's face was a treat. She'd been coming up the stairs with a steely look in her eye, grim and steady at once. When she saw the hall, she shrieked, a high pitched noise that made Harry's ears ring. "What's wrong?" Goyle asked, shouldering Pansy slightly aside, his jaw dropping open at the sight. "Thought we were cleaning Hogwarts, not my barn." Goyle muttered, hurrying along to catch up with Snape, not minding his boots in the slightest as they were neatly encased in the stinking, sucking mud.

But the best part was Draco Malfoy, who was in the midst of rolling his eyes at "Pansy's Dramatics", when he saw the hallway. His eyes bulged out, making him look like some sort of pale white fish, his mouth opening, in fact, precisely like a fish. In a small voice, Draco Malfoy said, "And I thought the Owlry was bad..."

Theodore Nott came up with a smirk, that only widened as he looked at the thin sea of mud. "Told you he was more upset than he was lettin' on."

Crabbe came up next, shouldering past both Theo and Draco, grunting agreement with Theo's commentary.

Daphne didn't say a word, her face simply froze as she looked at the muck. She stepped like some sort of prancing horse, trying to take the fewest steps and step the highest to avoid getting her robes dirty.

"I should have worn old robes, shouldn't I?" Tracy said, with a sigh.

"I did," Draco Malfoy said, "Then again, I knew _my_ punishment." Draco set off in the strangest gait Harry'd seen yet, a sort of precise jumping that was designed to be light and quiet - and, more importantly to the notorious peacock, not splash mud everywhere.

Harry was as quiet as a mouse until all the Slytherins were away, listening until Snape's voice faded in the distance - he was assigning people sectors and towers.

And then Harry laughed loud and long, savoring the expressions as if they were sweet ice cream melting on his tongue.

Harry Potter had gone back to bed, of course. The Slytherins would be there all morning, at least. He'd known, as soon as he saw how prissy-ass they were being, prancing around, that it might take them until sunset before they were done. Plenty of time for him to get some rest.

He was woken up, as usual, by Ron, who was - again, as usual - hungrier than the rest of the teenage boys combined. Harry stood, washed and showered as he was accustomed to - which is to say, quicker than a whistle. It wasn't a good idea to take up time or "precious water" in the Dursley household, and though after Quiddich he'd often take a proper shower, he generally didn't in the morning.

So he was down in the Common Room earlier than his mates. Earlier than Hermione, even, which was almost surprising until Harry remembered that she had slept on the couch waiting for him. He couldn't bring himself to feel guilty, even if he could have told her enough to make her not worry, it was most definitely a bad idea.

Neville was down next, with a sketchbook and a potted plant. Then Dean and Seamus, and Hermione and Lavender - who was, of course, looking for Ron. Ron came down in a flurry of robes, looking like a clothescolony had wrapped its cloth limbs around his entire body.

Ron made to escort Lavender out, his goofy awkwardness almost endearing - and that from Harry's own perspective. Lavender, who was head over heels, must have found it quite charming.

"I wouldn't," Harry said from a middle of the room couch with a clear view of the door. Harry continued, by way of explanation, "Not very romantic out there right now."

"What?" Lavender asked.

Ron, more suspicious, asked "What's wrong with the halls?"

"My detention last night, actually." Harry Potter said dryly.

"I'm surprised Snape didn't have you clean them all up afterwards!" Neville said, chuckling. Somehow Neville never got detention, the lucky sod. Points and more points taken off, but perhaps Snape had less patience with the chunky Gryffindor. An odd thought, because Harry would have sworn - last year at least - that Snape hadn't a lick of patience for _him_! Dumbledore had to have been getting an earful about the sheer impossibility of occlumency lessons...

"Nah," Harry Potter said, sprawled over the couch and letting his denial sprawl over the room, "He's saving that for his fifth year Slytherins."

"Blimey." Dean said, letting out a low whistle. "Remind me never to tick him off..."

Ron, looking more excited, said, "Who's got a bucket? We can pour something awful down, and they'll have to clean it up!" The room chuckled, or at least, everyone except Hermione and Harry laughed. The other people's cheer far outshouted the disapproving looks on both Harry and Hermione's faces.

"They're doing it without magic, Ron, isn't that enough?" Harry said, trying to smooth his voice out to not sound as challenging as his emotions wanted him to. Heck, they were all for decking his best friend - and, for what, really? An emotion that he'd had himself, time and again.

"Just leave it, Ron" Hermione said.

"Is there any clear way for us to get breakfast?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, "Not that I know of. Chess, anyone?"

Ron was always up for chess, and nobody else was starving, so it all worked out. Harry played a quick game, and then managed to quietly, for once, slip out of the Gryffindor Common Room.

He was headed toward the Owlry.

Draco Malfoy was not having a good day. In fact, it was a downright shitty day. He rather belatedly wished he hadn't put it quite like that, as it was literally owlshit that he was stuck cleaning. It didn't make it much better that he didn't have to wade through muck and mire, rehabilitating the hallways.

He was cleaning, and Without Magic. Worse, he had been commanded to do so by Snape, so there really wasn't anyone who he could complain to. The Slytherins were all in the same boat, and not interested in listening to him complaining about their Head of House anyway.

And with everything he'd gotten away with, over the years, it really wouldn't be productive to complain to the Gryffindors. The Hufflepuffs might sympathize, but they wouldn't understand. Malfoy was fairly certain they'd never had a detention this horrid.

So, of course, hours into a detention that looked like it might last to infinity, Harry Potter pops out of the woodwork. Joy. _Come to gloat, have we Potter?_ Draco barely bit his tongue on that sharp remark. But in the past year, he'd been rather working on his ability to not spit out exactly what he was thinking. A Slytherin should be subtle.

"Bet you're regretting making me do three detentions for the price of one, aren't you?" Harry Potter grinned, his cheeriness simultaneously irrepressible and completely inappropriate.

_What?_ Draco Malfoy thought, a bit confused. _Potter wasn't responsible for giving me detention - and certainly not the Owlry. Oh. OH. _Draco belatedly realized what was running through Potter's head. "I regret nothing. Although I would be obliged if you wouldn't mention my role in this fiasco to the rest of the Slytherins." Draco paused for a moment, then ventured, "They're the ones cleaning up your mess."

"True." Harry Potter said, grinning that once-again irrepressible grin. It made Draco Malfoy want to punch the poor soddin' bastard in the mouth. Couldn't he see that someone was miserable here? "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never seen you get punished worse than I have, for _any_ infraction - up to and including nearly killing me."

"When did I nearly kill you?" Draco Malfoy asked, trying hard and not quite succeeding at sounding unquerulous.

"Third year. Remember dressing up as a Dementor?"

"That wouldn't have killed you..." Draco Malfoy said dismissively.

"A fall from that high up? It was a good thing I had my wand in my sleeve - you know what happens when people go all sidesaddle on a broom." *+*

Draco Malfoy scoffed, saying, "By that line of reasoning, I've _nearly killed you_... dozens of times."

Potter, Merlin slay his soul, was still grinning, "Same back at you." Draco Malfoy supposed, in some way, that Potter was right. They had both been pretty lucky not to have died pulling some of the stunts that they did. Granted, most of them were legal - or nearly legal, in Draco's case (what you didn't get caught at counted as legal, of course). There was a reason they tended to catch the snitch in half the time that the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff seekers did. The others didn't take risky chances.

"You'll want a smaller brush for that," Potter said, seeming almost uncomfortable. "Here."

And just like that, Harry Potter had transfigured a quill into a small paintbrush... perfect for excavating the mouseribs out of the chink in the stonework that Draco had been trying to brush out with a broom.

"I'm not supposed to use magic to clean this," Draco Malfoy spouted, only seconds after he said it, realizing how stupid it was.

Harry kept grinning - what was with him and that grin? People made fun of Slytherins, but at least their 'resting face' said, "you mean nothing to me." Draco Malfoy couldn't for the life of him come up with what Harry was trying to express. And then cursed himself for a thrice blinded fool - he was a Gryffindor, and they didn't try to project anything. Nor did they think before they spoke, generally speaking (Granger was a known exception). "You didn't use magic. I did. And it's more work, not less, using a tool of that size."

Draco Malfoy looked at it, looked at Potter, tried it a bit (wedging out one rib), and then, a trifle grandly, said, "Very well, I accept."

Potter's lips finally settled into a more normal smirky smile, as he said, "Is that Malfoyese for Thank You?"

"Saying thank you implies an obligation, that I might owe you something. As you did this out of your own free will, I owe you nothing." Draco Malfoy said.

"A little gratitude wouldn't hurt, though..." Harry Potter said.

Draco Malfoy, "I'll be grateful when you accede to doing something because I request it."

"Oh, and what would you want me to do?" Harry Potter said, knitting his hands behind his head, as his elbows stuck out like elephant ears.

"I'll think of something." Draco Malfoy said, "Don't you have something better to do than harass a person that literally can't leave to get away from you?"

Harry Potter said, "Of course, but homework's boring. This is much more interesting."

Draco Malfoy promptly tuned Harry Potter out, or at least tried to. It seemed Harry Potter wanted a conversation and was going to try every technique until he got it. Luckily, by the time he got to whistling, Minerva McGonagall appeared, and, trying to keep a straight face, informed Harry Potter that he was interfering with Malfoy's detention. Detentions, apparently, weren't supposed to be having pointless conversations with someone who might be trying to kill you in a few months.*~* They were supposed to be grim dour and silent, which suited Draco Malfoy fine.

Harry had had his fun, gloating about Malfoy's well-deserved, twice deserved, quadruple deserved punishment. And now, sitting at lunch, in a Great Hall that somehow sparkled just a bit stronger for all the unmagical cleaning that the Slytherins had put in, all he had left was anticipation. Well, that, and watching someone's _first time_.

Oh, not that first time. Harry Potter was fairly certain that most of the Slytherins had never done a non-magical day's work in their lives. Work wasn't something to be enjoyed, exactly, but when you got down to being done? It was a sense of satisfaction, of being productive, of having done your best and having the results to show for it.

Being Slytherins, they weren't exactly crowing from the rooftops, but there was a definite sense, sitting there, of solidarity. Of people who had done a hard, worthwhile thing - together. Harry Potter was actually a little proud with having a hand in that.

Sitting in the Great Hall, Harry (rather late) began to plan how he was going to figure out what 'friend' Snape was going to see at Hogwarts. And how he was going to ... do something spectacular. Harry wasn't quite sure what Snape had meant by punishing him early, but it sounded a lot like an invitation, extended with a mail-covered hand, no doubt, but an invitation nonetheless.

A lot would depend on who was coming, of course. Should it be Fudge, well, Harry'd have to find a way to learn what was happening without being seen. But Harry doubted it was going to be Fudge. The Minister was three shades too aboveboard for Harry to really think about doing anything (aside from pranks, of course) subtle and shadowy.

No, Harry was pretty sure whoever it was would be a shady character, possibly even unsavory. And that meant something having to do with the war, of course. And in this war, Snape held the distinct, and rather dubious, position of being on all sides, so really Harry hadn't a clue who'd be showing up. It could be Alastor Moody, someone from Knockturn Alley (possibly selling cut rate potions ingredients, and rare blackmarket items), a thief... or it could be a Death Eater. Certainly there were a few of Tom Riddle's own that wouldn't be allowed in school... but there were also enough who knew how to put on white gloves...

But first, Harry'd have to figure out who had arrived. He was halfway through planning an accidental encounter from the coatcloset, when he slapped his own head. He had a map! He should use it, and that would be his first step. Of course, he wouldn't be in Gryffindor Tower, but someplace safe on the first floor - nearer the action without putting his feet in it.

Harry sat in an unused classroom, his map in hand, his cloak safely stowed in a pocket. He was so focused on the entranceways - he knew of several, though he'd have a hard time thinking who could possibly be entering under the Black Lake, that he didn't hear the door open.

"What are you up to now, Potter?" That shrill, grating voice could only be Pansy Parkinson.

He barely stopped himself from hiding the map, simply rolling it up so she wouldn't see what he'd been reading. "Research."

"With what, a scrap of parchment? Are you inventing everything you're studying?" Pansy said, and Harry suddenly felt that would have been a good idea. Pity he was such shite at lying.

"Alright. I was just thinking..." Harry Potter said.

Pansy Parkinson abruptly shut the door, and sat on the teacher's desk, her legs swinging, "Well, I'm bushed, so why don't you tell me about it?"

"I know." Harry Potter said agreeably.

"Wait, that was _you_? Why were you even there?!" Pansy said.

"How did you -?" Harry started to ask, changed his mind, and said, "No, of course it wasn't me."

"You're ruddy shite at lying, Potter." Pansy said, her legs swinging and hitting the desk with hard, ringing thunks. "Either get better at it, or give it up. Besides, if the shoes fit..."

"Huh?" Harry Potter asked.

"You, Idiot Extraordinare, went wading through mud, in an invisibility cloak." Pansy looked at him and Harry looked back, until she finally snapped, "You left footprints."

"Oh. That was dumb, wasn't it?" Harry asked, grinning abashed. He'd never been afraid to laugh at himself.

"Extremely," Pansy drawled in a move Harry was suddenly sure she had copied from Draco Malfoy.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Harry Potter asked, trying not to make himself sound completely accusatory. He belatedly figured that it about half worked.

"I wanted to ask you about magnetism. But apparently you're too busy thinking..." Pansy said.

"Yes, you really should come back later." Harry said, using his bright green eyes to conjure the most perfectly innocent and not sarcastic look on his face. It rarely worked, but Harry had learned at a young age to try it anyhow. Nothing worked well at the Dursley household. He found himself wondering if anything worked well at the Parkinson's house.

"Well, fine then." Pansy said, turning her nose up with a sniff, and headed away, shutting the classroom door behind her.

Harry Potter unfurled the map quickly, and saw three names he recognized in the Hogwarts main Entranceway. With a simple shrug of his cloak, he was quickly heading out of the classroom, paying no mind to the "invisible person opens door" dilemma. With those three together... he knew _exactly_ why Snape had _assumed_ he'd be up to something tonight.

"Mr. Malfoy, as I'm sure you are aware, you are no longer a member of the Board of Directors. You are not entitled to visit Hogwarts as you please, and you most certainly do not have the professors at your beck and call." Minerva McGonagall ground out, her thinlipped straight posture showing anger, but Harry thought that glimmer in her eye was more satisfaction, at being able to vocally dress down the known Death Eater who had almost killed a good few of her students.

"I am perfectly aware of that, Professor." Lucius's melodic voice rang out, "And I assure you that I have no complaints about your teaching methods or style."

Professor McGonagall at this point huffed dryly, as she hadn't been asking that question at all.

"Has my old friend been troubling you?" Severus Snape said, emerging from the dungeons with his usual flair.

"Au Contraire," Lucius said, turning towards Professor Snape, "She has been troubling me. And I do so hate it when you call me that. It makes me feel threadbare and motheaten, you know." Only Lucius Malfoy could say such things in a tone of such perfect equanimity that you weren't sure what, if any of this, he meant.

"Then allow me to escort your presence out of my colleague's careful hands." Severus Snape said, his manner just as precise as Lucius'. The only difference was that his words purred, while Lucius' drawled, just like his son's.

Both Lucius and Snape headed downstairs, presumably towards Snape's office. Harry followed, heart in his mouth, trying to be as quiet as possible. He couldn't help but remember every single time Snape had caught him - even under the cloak. It didn't make it any less scary, even if Snape had as good as told him to do this. He could still, very easily, be doing _not_ what Snape wanted or expected. And, despite everything, Snape would take abnormal satisfaction in punishing him if he'd pushed one toe out of line.

Luckily, Lucius spoke up not twenty feet from the Main Entranceway, jolting Harry out of his quiet thoughts, "I must say," Lucius drawled in his customary icy tones, "Hogwarts has never seemed more halycon. Were those suits of armor in the entranceway actually shining?"

"Yes, that would be entirely due to my House." Severus Snape purred, "I find serving detention without magic has a certain tendency to increase the intellectual perseverance of even the most spoiled of pupils."

"Sev, what did they do?" Lucius Malfoy asked, his voice conveying a humor that seemed almost foreign.

"I put two mice in front of the cat, and the cat just sat there." Snape said, shortly, "The goal was for them to catch both of the mice."

"I really think that you may have set that goal a trifle high. They are students, after all." Lucius Malfoy drawled.

"With only a little time left, I might add," Snape said darkly, "Would you like to see the Owlry? Your son has done a most excellent job of cleaning up after the avian residences of this august institution."

Lucius Malfoy sputtered at this, face actually slightly reddened, before he intoned, coldly, "I hardly think that will be necessary."

They went a good room's-length before Lucius spoke up again. "Really, Severus, did you have to break my toys? Didn't you ever learn to share?" Hearing that, Harry Potter mentally added a point on Snape's total, for bearing the silence better. Still, Lucius clearly had something on his mind.

"Of course not, Lu," Snape purred, "And I hardly think your superiors would approve of your toys."

"Are you trying to insinuate that you did me a favor?"

"Oh, I'd never hold you to the obligation," Snape said in a voice filled with dark humor and good cheer, "After all, what are friends for?"

"Ah, yes, and here I thought you were just lonely and in need of fine company." Lucius Malfoy said.

"The latter moreso than the former. I trust you'll tell me if you find any?" Snape commented, his voice dry.

"Any company at all would be better than what you're stuck with at this venerable, even antiquated institution." Lucius Malfoy said.

Biting down on his tongue, Harry couldn't stop the quip from ringing in his head - you were the one directing the curriculum. If it's antiquated, it's your doing.

"Oh?" Snape replied, his voice wry.

"The students - as dire as always?"

"Of course. Or, in some cases, worse." Snape said darkly. Harry couldn't stop a shiver from running up his back. Something in how Snape said that.

"Ah, yes. I've heard the sixth year Gryffindors are something else." Lucius Malfoy said. "Anything I'd find of interest?"

"There is nothing new under the sun." Snape intoned, almost piously. Then he turned a furious sneer on Lucius, who nearly took a halfstep back at the vividly gruesome sight. "That boy, that arrogant boy - you don't _need_ to meet _him_, just picture James Potter, and add even more arrogance, if you can believe it."

Harry's wandhand had tensed at the word boy, an instinctive response born of hatred and a desire to see Uncle Vernon pay. Harry had felt the anger wash over himself like a tsunami, and held firm to his position. That was also, he thought, coming to be instinct. At the speed of thought, he drained all that surging water from his core. This was Snape, he thought, and then thought again. Hang a sec, Harry Potter thought, Snape never calls me boy. It's Potter, or You, or occasionally, Mister Potter. Harry shook his head, continuing forward along the dungeon corridor, with every step becoming more convinced that That couldn't be right. So, Harry thought, _what was it, if not that? And, suddenly, Harry had it, -Snape had known how much he hated that name. Snape had known. So, he was trying to anger me. Why?_

"How's he adjusting to his new status - Yesteryear's Savior, that is...?" Lucius asked.

"Poorly." Snape said, his heels clicking on the floor, "But enough about my misery..."

Snape and Malfoy had by this point reached Snape's office. They entered, shutting the door. Harry, still under his cloak, moved forward, getting close to the door, thinking about how he could get in the door, half convincing himself to not even try. His eyes had been peeled to the doorjamb, so when his eyes traveled up the door towards the mantle, he was shocked to see, "Go Away, Gryffindor." written in Slytherin green.

Well, that settles that, Harry thought, heading up towards his bed. He did wonder what sort of classified, "Not for Harry's Eyes" information they were discussing. Hell, Snape might have decided that Harry's listening ears weren't needed if all they were going to do was drink firewhiskey and bitch about the Dark Lord Voldemort.

... for that matter, Snape would be right!

For most people at Hogwarts, Harry was fairly sure, Sundays were a time for relaxation and ease. At least they were most years. This year, the upperclassmen were training, and the underclassmen seemed to be picking up the tension too.

Harry, however, wasn't most people. He'd never really felt... relaxed. Well, not often, at any rate. There was always some part of him, he supposed, that kept an ear open for Dudley. Or Uncle Vernon. Or even Aunt Petunia.

Harry was actually a bit frustrated, as he'd asked Hermione to help him with his Potions, and she'd passed him her finished draft. The problem was, it was actually the expected length. Normally, Harry could pick and choose points out of Hermione's paper (asking her to explain if he really didn't understand), and stitch together something that looked uniquely from him. But Hermione'd finished her paper on Friday (while he was in detention), and didn't have her drafts.

So, Harry was reading the books himself. Yes, books. Snape apparently decided that assigning homework meant extracurricular reading. Or at least he did if you wanted a decent grade. It wasn't exactly that Harry did or didn't want a decent grade, though - he knew he hadn't a reasonable chance of getting it. Taught by Severus Snape, Potions was a grueling class filled with sweat and cauldrons and fire. Some people seemed made for it - was Draco Malfoy really as cold as he looked or did he just use a cooling charm on his clothes?

Focus.

It took hours for Harry to come up with a half-decent paper. He'd have considered doing more, but his Transfiguration was calling, and after that he had Charms. Defense hadn't any homework (due, no doubt, to the enormous pile Hermione was working on for their 'study group') - Harry figured that just meant Snape was going to assume that they'd done the homework he hadn't officially assigned. Was he trying to drive those Ravenclaws mad?

It was almost time for dinner, and Harry was taking a walk, enjoying the warm summerish breeze at the end of September. It truly was a balmy day. As his feet took him where they willed, he carefully reviewed Snape and Malfoy's conversation from the night before. It had seemed so strange, at the time, to hear two Death Eaters talking... they had sounded so normal. Not like they were plotting to murder Hermione, or someone else...

*+*more appropriately, this is about being half twisted towards the back, grabbing something out of an inconvenient pocket or a boot.

*~*not quite how McGonagall put it, naturally.

*Methane reeks, doncha know.

**Harry is counting all trips. Snape's not having him do 80 "up to the top of Hogwarts" stair runs in a night.

***Frostbite is bad, kids. You can get frostbite in wet clothes a lot warmer than you'd think. That said, a bit of burning in your toes is probably chilblains, which suck but aren't "we'll cut your toes off." Read more somewhere else on the internet. General first aid is a lifesaver.


	18. Debriefing

For most people at Hogwarts, Harry was fairly sure, Sundays were a time for relaxation and ease. At least they were most years. This year, the upperclassmen were training, and the underclassmen seemed to be picking up the tension too.

Harry, however, wasn't most people. He'd never really felt... relaxed. Well, not often, at any rate. There was always some part of him, he supposed, that kept an ear open for Dudley. Or Uncle Vernon. Or even Aunt Petunia.

Harry was actually a bit frustrated, as he'd asked Hermione to help him with his Potions, and she'd passed him her finished draft. The problem was, it was actually the expected length. Normally, Harry could pick and choose points out of Hermione's paper (asking her to explain if he really didn't understand), and stitch together something that looked uniquely from him. But Hermione'd finished her paper on Friday (while he was in detention), and didn't have her drafts.

So, Harry was reading the books himself. Yes, books. Snape apparently decided that assigning homework meant extracurricular reading. Or at least he did if you wanted a decent grade. It wasn't exactly that Harry did or didn't want a decent grade, though - he knew he hadn't a reasonable chance of getting it. Taught by Severus Snape, Potions was a grueling class filled with sweat and cauldrons and fire. Some people seemed made for it - was Draco Malfoy really as cold as he looked or did he just use a cooling charm on his clothes?

Focus.

It took hours for Harry to come up with a half-decent paper. He'd have considered doing more, but his Transfiguration was calling, and after that he had Charms. Defense hadn't any homework (due, no doubt, to the enormous pile Hermione was working on for their 'study group') - Harry figured that just meant Snape was going to assume that they'd done the homework he hadn't officially assigned. Was he trying to drive those Ravenclaws mad?

It was almost time for dinner, and Harry was taking a walk, enjoying the warm summerish breeze at the end of September. It truly was a balmy day. As his feet took him where they willed, he carefully reviewed Snape and Malfoy's conversation from the night before. It had seemed so strange, at the time, to hear two Death Eaters talking... they had sounded so normal. Not like they were plotting to murder Hermione, or someone else...

There might have been a more tense DA meeting, Harry thought, but Harry couldn't remember it, if so.

Everyone knew about Hermione Granger and her... enthusiasm for projects.

Seeing her here, enthusiastic, wouldn't have been a problem, Harry thought - had she done it the first day. However, she hadn't, and that had allowed everyone to relax.

Now, they could feel her thrumming with the need for attention, her hair sparking blue sparks every so often.

Harry wasn't tense because of that, in some part because he knew the reason, and in a larger part because Hermione would never hurt him unless she felt like he REALLY deserved it. Snape should step wary, as Hermione was not above disciplining teachers too.

No, Harry was tense because he'd seen through what Snape was doing. Not that it was a problem that he knew (he was rather enjoying knowing something for once, and didn't feel compelled to tell even Ron, who might have laughed himself silly or gone off to hex Snape and got expelleed). But, here, there were Slytherins. Even Draco Malfoy arriving at the last moment (somehow looking better when his hair was tossled slightly. Harry was _ever_ so jealous). Someone might notice, and, worse, might tell Snape. Or everyone.

So Harry stood, taut, near Hermione but not flanking her, not supporting her, really - she didn't need it, and especially not when she was in this sort of bad mood. He scanned faces, half-relieved to see a few of the duller Slytherins looking troubled at Snape just leaving the books there. But the Smarter Sltyerins? by and large, their eyes just leamed with greed.

Ah, greed, that clouds man's eyes and dulls his reason.

Hermione, being Hermione, had three spells that she wanted everyone to know, and know immediately. She had Luna - and, oddly enough, Draco Malfoy, assisting. Draco Malfoy seemed to have more or less invited himself up to help, rather than Hermione asking (as he apparently already knew the spell dead to rights). Harry could tell from the stiff near-frown on Hermione's face. Draco Malfoy, rather than sneering, seemed to simply be focusing on teaching the students.

With a mental shake, Harry joined Hermione's group. She was explaining a loudspeaker charm, or something like that. It was all about the ears, at any rate. And, since it was technically cast on oneself, it gave one the advantage in a fight, when everyone was expecting to shield.

* * *

Harry was early to breakfast on Monday, his ears still ringing a bit from yesterday's practice. He looked around him, noting, unsiurprisingy, that the Astronomy professor wasn't there. McGonagall and Snape were, however, and Snape was looking... full of that old dark fire that he usually had. And a bit less skeletal too. Harry was glad.

Harry ate reasonably quickly, and in fact, was done before the rest of his House had arrived. Which was good, as he'd wanted to review and add a bit more to his Charms homework. It was amazing what you thought of while asleep.

Harry, as he always did, carefully lifted his plate and set it in the middle of the table, where he'd have put the other dirty dishes if there were any. He supposed it was a mild affectation born of Muggle Living, but he really didn't mind. He felt like giving the house elves a little less work wasn't truly a bad thing.

... or at least, that's what he'd have done, if he hadn't noticed a scrap of parchment under his plate. It read, simply, "Detention, 6:30 pm. Do Not Be Late", in Snape's spiky hand. Harry nearly dropped the dish in his confusion. How did that get there? And then, relief poured over him. He hadn't scheduled it during his training time.

Harry idly supposed that there were benefits to having an eavesdropping teacher around, when your schedule was as busy as his was.

Just as Harry Potter was about to leave the breakfast table, an owl swooped down. Perhaps it wanted to wait for its fellows, but since Harry was leaving... Absently, Harry pocketed the parchment and turned to the owl, feeding it a delectable bit of meat. He opened the missive, and his face split into a broad grin.

It was from the Twins!

Couched as it was in daily gossip and good cheer, Harry could see it for what it was - a financial statement. Exactly what a responsible businessman would send an investor. Of course, the Twins, being the twins, had so much other stuff sandwiched into the ten page long letter that even if Ron and Ginny read it thoroughly, they'd never figure out what was going on.

And it would take even Hermione some time.

Harry didn't want to read this at the table though, so he bounced up - but did not leave before looking at the rest of the hall. Draco Malfoy - and Severus Snape - were both eyeing him curiously. Harry took a split second to consider acting his age, before deciding that neither person could gather anything terribly important from "Harry has a letter that has made him happy."

Besides! The letter felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

Harry had found the perfect place to read - it was a bay window that made him feel as if he was flying, with a 270 degree view, as he sat there and opened the letter. Let Hermione keep her library. Harry rather preferred his dimly lit window.

Harry skimmed through multiple multi-page descriptions of customers, learning that business had been good, if not booming, and that they were going to try and find a few more items to wind up on Filch's list of Banned Items At Hogwarts. Apparently, the quicker something got banned, the better it sold. Inside Hogwarts and out. Harry figured the Ravenclaws must have been having fun disassembling these trinkets, as there hadn't been a massive outbreak of purple spotted acne.

Two-thirds of the way through, Harry found something.. interesting. Not that the latest list of the Twins pranks (some carried out on other purveyors of fine merchandice, even -) weren't interesting. But this? The twins began to describe a series of letters - and if Harry was reading the elipsis correctly, they were unsigned letters. Suggestions, ideas. Pointers, even. The twins, understandably, were suspicious of such an odd method of delivery, but eventually decided to try one that they just couldn't pass up. And it worked, if not quite as described. The loud noise produced by the thin metallic sheet did not just make people curl up in shock - it literally had blood pouring out of their ears. AND they really were frozen immobile.

_Slice a cake three times, make eight pieces._ Harry thought, vaguely recognizing the lateral thinking from an admittedly hazy memory of his third grade teacher. No wonder this sounded so familiar! And, Harry thought, that meant it had to be one of the Order. Who else would pluck a few innocent pranksters and have them start making weapons of war.

Harry'd have to look up the spell to fix eardrums, he thought absently to himself. He rolled out a spare scrap of parchment, and began to compose a letter back to the Twins. They were owed hearty congratulations - Harry remembered from one of Uncle Vernon's long meandering dinner conversations, that new businesses had a hard time starting up. For the twins to be doing even nearly as well as Zonko's? It was impressive.

Of course, he hadn't answered the most interesting question - _who_ had come up with these ideas?

Harry Potter was nearly glad to see Snape arrive for his DADA class - he was almost looking normal again. Still thin, unhealthily so (but he often looked that way...), but Harry could feel a sort of energy to Snape that he hadn't had last week - like a live wire, rippling with energy.

Snape strode his way through the class, students instinctively sidling away from his path. He leapt up onto the small dais, and said, "Slytherins, choose your partners." Nearly as one, the Slytherins turned their eyes to the rest of class. Even Goyle's sleepy eyes looked keen as a knifeblade. Malfoy ended up standing by Hermione, his face turned into a sneer of disdain. And, yet, he'd still chosen her? It was an odd match, those two behaviors. Goyle was standing beside Harry, looking as dull as a clod of dirt. Yet, his eyes were wary and light on everyone. Harry somehow had the impression that not much got past those eyes, though Goyle was the type to keep his own council. Nott was standing by Boot, and Harry vaguely recalled that both of them were in Arithmancy with Hermione, so they perhaps at least knew each other. Bulstrode was paired with Crabbe, and Harry couldn't help but think that would be an interesting combination to fight. The Big and Uglies. That would be mean to say about someone else, but - as of this precise moment, it was both accurate and a compliment. They didn't have to work to be intimidating (as Malfoy would have to, if he ever hoped to... Harry viciously cut the thought off. There were things he didn't want to think about - things that ought not to exist in his mind.)

"Hufflepuffs, you're next." This was mainly 'puffs choosing their own, Hannah and Susan together, Justin and Ernie. Somehow, and nobody was surprised, Zacharias was left alone, and wound up standing with an ugly smile next to Neville Longbottom. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be fine." he said - somehow managing to be more arrogant than Malfoy.

"All the people who were so unfortunate as to not get picked, find yourself a partner." It was really strange, when you thought about it, how distinctly unsympathetic Snape could make his voice. It was a move designed to make people feel awful, and yet - they hadn't really done anything. Last year, Harry would have been... provoked. This year, he merely waited. And wondered exactly what was going on.

"Does everyone have a partner?" Snape said, before ordering, "Face your partners, two paces away from them." Harry was looking around as he maneuvered to the proper position. Many had their wands in hand, others looked as if they were about to draw them. "Now bow." Everyone did, with varying degrees of grace. Goyle, looking more like a stone golem than a person, bowed carefully at his waist. Harry mimicked him, if not in his stoniness, at least the level of his bow. He vaguely recalled that it was considered an insult somewhere to not bow as low as your partner.

"Can anyone tell me why I asked the Slytherins and then the Hufflepuffs to choose their partners?" Snape asked. There was a loud silence in the room, as people uneasily shuffled their feet. Snape lept off the dais and strolled the room, his dark, intent eyes causing most people to look down. Harry met his eyes solidly, his hands automatically turning into fists at his sides. Snape stopped in front of Granger, his robes swaying back and forth with the abruptness. "Well, well, well, have I finally asked a question that Miss Know-it-all cannot answer? What's the matter, dear, was it not in your books?" The Slytherins (particularly Pansy) were snickering lightly at this - and Harry could, at least briefly, understand enjoying someone's comeuppance. But this was his friend, and Harry didn't like people poking his friends. His hands were true fists at his sides, and he shook with anger.

"Potter," Snape drawled, his penetrating eyes still locked on Granger's, "Whatever is the matter? Are you really so upset that I haven't called on you?" How did Snape know? He wasn't even looking at me! Shite, I'm really that predictable. Snape let out an aggrieved sigh, "Very well, answer the question Potter."

"You wanted the best matches. You chose the Slytherins first, because they're the ones most likely to select good partners. Everyone else is more likely to choose based on who they know, or their friends, or something like that. But Slytherins are both cunning and ambitious, so they're more likely to take advantage of the opportunity to forge a new relationship." Harry got to the end of what he was saying, and then wanted to ask how in hell he'd gotten there. Every word had made sense, but he hadn't had half of them when he'd started.

"And the Hufflepuffs?" Snape prompted.

"They, like the Gryffindors, are likely to choose based on friendships. But, it's right when a Hufflepuff does so, and generally wrong when a Gryffindor does so. Hufflepuffs work better together with their friends, even when shooting stinging hexes at each other." As Harry talked, he could see flashes of their study sessions, of how people worked together.

"Very good." Snape said, glancing at Potter with a crisp nod that was just shy of approving. His gaze turned back to Hermione's brown orbs. "You might have tried to answer, at least. Not every response is contained within a book. There will be more allowances for ineloquency - as was the case with Potter's stumbling answer." Hermione tried to look contrite, but Snape wasn't looking at her. His words finished, he whirled away to the dais again, his tall form looming over them like a living incarnation of Death himself.

"It is at this point, that I would like to announce a pop quiz." Snape drawled.

From his stand on the dais, Snape flourished his arm, taking the cape with it in a whirl of black fabric. As it settled, there was a feast in front of them. Well, not quite a Hogwarts feast - more party food. Snape snapped his fingers, and 1-2-3 music* appeared out of nowhere.

"You will receive a zero on the first question. Can anyone tell me what they missed?" Snape drawled.

Draco Malfoy, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, had gone white, and was balling his hands into fists ... but not, Harry thought, out of anger, but... what then?

One of the Ravenclaws raised her hand, saying clearly, "That was a notice me not spell, wasn't it sir?"

"Indeed. Ten points to the person who can tell me what I could have done with an unnoticed notice-me-not spell." Snape said.

Hermione raised her hand, but no one was surprised when Snape called on Goyle instead, likely to rub into everyone's soul exactly how easy of a question it was. "Any number of dangers, from people to hippogryffs. Or, even subtler, nothing at all."

Snape cocked his head at that, clearly not having expected that answer.

"Malfoy once used a noticemenot to conceal a hole in the ground. I nearly broke my leg that day." Goyle said stoutly. Malfoy, still looking slightly shaken, tried to look smug.

"Very good," Snape said, his look of approval heading straight toward Draco and not Goyle.

"Well, you have your partners. Music is playing. It is time to dance." Snape said, in that completely straightfaced way of his. Harry wondered, idly, how much Snape was laughing on the inside. He wouldn't be doing this otherwise... would he?

Seamus asked, "Will this be on our pop quiz?"

Snape responded, with a sneer, "I've never heard of a pop quiz with only one question, have you?" Which, Harry noted with growing alarm and suspicion, was neither a yes or a no. It was a distraction, and those were always worth noting.

It had taken most of the room about a minute to overcome the variously terrifying, disquieting, upsetting or horrifying thought that Severus Snape had just ordered his class to dance.

UN-fortunately, that mean that the entire class was just now coming to terms with their partners, not a one of which had been chosen as a decent dance partner. Harry Potter, his heart sinking, looked up at Greg Goyle (half a head taller than Harry, and twice as wide), and asked quietly, "Are you better at leading or following?"

"I've only ever led," Goyle said softly, "Just watch me and do as I do - except backward."

Harry Potter nodded, thinking warily that he'd been horrid at leading in the first place.

And yet, their pairing was not _at all_ the wildest one in the room. Neville and Zach were attempting to dance, where they clearly hadn't even decided who was leading - of course, the quietly stolid Neville was a pretty poor pick for partnering with the obnoxious Zach, who seemed to be trying to tell Neville how to dance (which he'd be doing whether or not he was competent). And Malfoy was white as a ghost (turning nearly-translucent blue) as he gently put his arm around Hermione Granger's waist.

The whole room began to dance, in fits and starts (mainly because boys were apparently really, really bad at following.) Lavender and Parvati twirled around the room, dancing skillfully between people, half the boys were on the floor at some point, and the entire thing was basically chaos.

And that was before the Professor brought out the stinging hexes. That lasted all of five minutes, before Sue Li accidentally stepped on Anthony's leg, which was a neat trick, as she wasn't even partnered with him. It broke with a sickening crack. Everyone in the room stopped dancing, and most had their arms to their sides, looking in mute horror at the boy's teartracks that ran down his face as he sobbed quietly.

Professor Snape looked laconically at the unbloodied boy on the floor, before saying in an impassive tone, "Do I have a volunteer to be momentarily excused from the lesson? Apparently the Infirmary is due another visit."

Oddly enough, it was Justin who raised his hand, saying, "I'll take him to the infirmary." He used his wand to levitate the injured boy out of the room.

"Now," Snape said, clasping his hands together in front of him in a movement just short of a clap (and making his robes resemble a bat's wings curled around himself). "As it would appear that your British hearts are most successfully protesting the inclusion of a Provincial French dance in our curriculum, I suppose I must bow to popular demand." Snape then actually bowed (a short, twenty degree bow that did little other than sending his hair into his face). "English Country Square Dancing then." Snape's white teeth flashed in what might have been a smile on someone else, but on Snape was clearly a sneer.

The class would have gone better had anyone (and I mean anyone) actually known how to do English Country dancing. Snape used stinging hexes to teach, and so "hop lively" turned into less an instruction and more an order. It was actually worse than waltzing, even if fewer people wound up on the floor.

Goyle, when they weren't trying to dance closely, proved to be agile enough on his feet, and Harry found himself moving decently in the rhythm. It was an easy one -two-three-four.

It seemed like an eternity before Snape called a brief halt to the proceedings. "Would anyone like to tell me why we are dancing in a Defense class?"

Lavender, without waiting for herself to be called on, spoke up, giggling, "The Halloween Ball is almost here!"

"That's a month from now," Snape corrected dryly.

Hermione Granger spoke up, suddenly, without waiting to be called on. "Dancing teaches agility, and it teaches reading your partner." Harry barely forestalled a wince (though he saw by Goyle's glance at him that the larger bloke had caught it anyway).

"A bit forward, but true, from the feminine perspective." Snape drawled, spinning around, until his eyes caught out Neville Longbottom.

"Longbottom?" Snape drawled, and it was just slightly shocking to hear Snape not actively peeved at even having to address the clumsy boy.

"I'm... I'm not sure, sir." Neville said, trying not to fidget.

Snape went around the room, and Harry belatedly began to wonder if Snape was just trying to make the boys look like fools, as none of them were answering the question correctly.

With a deep sigh, Snape finally said, "The dance leader, as opposed to the follower, must provide cues. This is not an equal partnership, but one where one party steers and guides... and the other dances exclusively backwards." Snape looked them all over, "You would be well advised to learn how to waltz, if you hope to learn how to dodge hexes. Certainly, your ability to dodge your partner's feet leaves everything to be desired."

Snape again snapped his fingers, and the whole room began to dance again.

This was a far simpler dance than the waltz, so, in retrospect, Harry shouldn't have been so surprised... But the first time he felt a stinging hex, and realized Snape was on the other side of the room... He whirled, out of step with the music, and saw Malfoy smirking, victoriously.

From two inches behind his ear, Snape said curtly, "Dance, Potter." Despite the manifest fact that Snape was on the other side of the room. That hadn't even been the first hex thrown, Harry belatedly understood, recalling Lisa howling and jumping on one foot.

In silence, or nearly - softer than a whisper.

Play the game, Harry told himself, as he continued to move with Goyle. The dance must go on.

Harry wasn't surprised when Snape's voice was at his ear again, "One stinging hex, to the Weasley's bottom." Harry fought not to blaunch, and realized that he'd be the least likely to be identified, since he didn't even need to use his wand (which was in his left hand anyway, as he was the follower at the moment). Still, to do that...

"Now." Snape snapped, and Harry instinctively buckled, his red stinging hex hitting Ron on the bottom, with enough pain that he was hopping while trying not to land on his partner's feet.

Harry found himself wondering if Snape was ever expecting a dance to turn this violent - if people would hide their wands and hex their enemies, all while donning the clumsy facade of politeness. Or was this how every Death Eater Gala went?

The music continued, and Harry spun on.

Harry watched as the room spun on, towards the middle of the square and then out to the edges again, turn left, turn right. Every so often, someone would mess a step, hit someone else's foot, and then there'd be someone jumping on one foot. Without hearing Snape's voice again, all Harry could do was watch, and try and take notes. He first noticed that the stinging hexes were actually doing less damage than male clumsiness (the clumsy girls, even Bulstrode, were too light to actually break bones). Then he tried, as he bowed to Goyle and then to his opposite - to see who was casting.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were easy to spot - because when Snape spoke into their ears, they lept into the air, half of the time. The Slytherins were the best at hiding their wands in their sleeves (or, like Harry, using wandless magic). Ron couldn't keep a straight face to save his life, and it lit with unholy glee when he was asked - to shoot Nott, of all people. He must think that Nott was behind that stinging hex. How will he feel when he figures out it was me?

Hermione was doing better, and Seamus and Dean didn't seem to be thinking much of anything - including the hexes. Neville Longbottom was bearing up under them etter, but he was still having trouble getting used to Snape. When it was his turn, he turned ashen grey. Crabbe looked delighted to be dancing with Davis, and that was true even when the hexes started flyng. Parvati and Lavender were making a game out of dodging the hexes, it would seem - a quick glance at Snape's piercing eyes told Harry that Snape was well aware. Though, truth be told, Harry couldn't have told whether Snape approved or not. Unlike Harry Potter, Snape might have merely concluded that it wasn't worth haranguing the "brainless twits" over a game that was only working two times out of three.

Or he might have approved. Harry did not know, and he forced himself to keep that level of understanding. Not knowing, itself, was a powerful place to be, if an indecisive one. It was standing behind the hedgerow at school, listening for Dudley or Piers - knowing they could explode out of either side - or through the hedge, or over, or occasionally and stupidly under the hedge. And he had to be ready. So he had listened.

It was Ron Weasley who said something first, "Hey, we're nearly done with our midday meal," His face getting brighter red as Snape turned his coal-dark eyes on him, "Class was supposed to be over an hour ago at least!"

"For those of you who are not blind, you will note that I have made arrangements for our peculiar circumstances. The headmaster has graciously given permission for the house elves to create this more festive repast." With a gesture, Snape silenced the music, "You may all partake in the feast."

Ron was the first person to the table, of course, dodging between Crabbe and Davis. It would have been hilarious, if Harry hadn't nearly accidentally glanced over at Snape, who for once wasn't looking _smug_. That alertness made Harry's danger sense tingle. _What's he done?_ Harry thought, and then - the twins flashed into his mind, in all their technicolor glory. _Oh,_ Harry thought, and suddenly wished he'd remembered to bring along some dragonhide gloves.

As it was, if he didn't trust Snape to not have dosed everything... he'd have to bluff his way out. Instead of heading towards the table, he shifted away from it, dancing lightly on his feet in a way that he'd never managed with a partner, his closed mouth humming a weird gypsy tune. He faced the hungry class, now devouring the cream puffs and trifles, the salsa and everything else.

"What's wrong?" Goyle asked from beside Harry's shoulder. Harry had to quell the urge to jump - only mostly successfully. And then? Then he didn't want to give away too much information...

"I forgot my dragonhide gloves." Harry said. Goyle, in response, looked down at his feet for a long moment, before looking up at Harry's green eyes. "Ah." Goyle said shortly, "You won't want to stand over here too long."

Harry nodded in silent assent, before moving off to talk with Neville and Hermione. Malfoy, as expected, had taken the opportunity to flee as far away from his 'dance partner' as possible, and Harry didn't blame him. Malfoy ought to feel fortunate that Hermione hadn't decided the middle of a class was the perfect time for an interrogation. Harry himself would have been hard pressed to not start something like that, if he'd been the victim of Malfoy's bizarre behavior (which Harry thought he understood, if slightly disapproved of).

Harry didn't make it over to the Gryffindors. Instead of colorchanging, everyone in the room turned black and white - and then they all discovered, as they exclaimed, that they sounded like they spoke perfect Queen's English.

"Everyone who has suffered a grievious and unexpected accident this class period will be receiving a zero on their Potions Pop Quiz." Snape said, his robes rustling as he spun around the room. His long nose pointed down at some of his Slytherins, as he said scathingly, "You should be ashamed of yourselves. Even _Potter_ knows not to eat before testing it. Has your hunger so sapped your wit?"

"Hard won experience, that." Harry said, thinking back to Hagrid.

Snape continued as if Harry hadn't said a thing, and maybe the sharp-eared teacher really hadn't heard. "If you have not yet done so, you should read ahead in Most Potente Potions to the section on powders, poisons, and other unsavory traps." Snape smirked, as he said, "Unfortunately, you are all confined to this room until you can either remove the deletirious substance, or it fades on its own. Wouldn't want to give the younger students any ideas."

Harry Potter, one of two people in the room not affected, quietly took a few steps towards the door, hoping to get out before lunch was entirely done.

"That means you too, Potter. Reversals are almost as important than not getting dosed in the first place."

Harry suppressed an aggrieved sigh, as he sank down onto his heels, too tired really to put much effort into removing unknown substances from his peers.

Dinner was hale and wholesome as usual, Harry found, and everyone had (wonder of all wonders) recovered - Harry rather thought it was because Snape didn't fancy having to babysit the entire year's worth of students until curfew. He didn't bother pointing out to everyone that they seemed to be enjoying the dinner more than usual. Supper was best when people just enjoyed chatting. Harry, for his own part, was enjoying filling his teenage male stomach - which had been of the opinion that ignoring food after exercise was a poor job at best. Harry, luckily, had overruled his stomach.

After dinner, he gave a sharp nod at Hermione - trusting Ron to catch it, and headed upstairs, towards the Room of Requirement. His mind was so focused on what they'd be doing - running down two separate paths - no, three - as he tried to imagine who would be at the training session that day. Strangely, he didn't feel awkward about Snape listening in. At least that way, if someone managed to get in abnormal amounts of trouble, they wouldn't have to find him first.

So resolved, it was a shock when a sudden weight tugged on his sleeve. Harry kept barreling ahead, but with the weight, he nearly faceplanted into a wall. (As it was, he wound up spun into an alcove, missing the wall by bare inches). Turning towards the abnormal weight, he saw Pansy Parkinson, her smirking face creased with amusement. "Gotcha, Potter," she smirked, in a manner disturbingly like Tonks.

"Oh, it's you," Harry said, mentally deducting a whole host of points from himself for

\- First, managing to be so preoccupied that someone could touch him

-Second, so unaware of his surroundings that a mere sharp jerk could send him into a wall.

-Three, that neither of the above had actually resulted in him drawing his wand or assuming a combat stance.

That was sloppy and Harry abruptly realized that if Snape ever caught him acting this way, he'd never hear the end of it. And with Snape, that meant stinging hexes whenever Harry Potter looked the least bit unwary.

"What?" Harry Potter finally managed to stammer, before (quite belatedly) recollecting that he was _going somewhere_.

"That explanation you promised me. I'd like it. Now, if you would be so kind." Pansy was smiling a soft, sweet smile that Harry was sure didn't belong anywhere on her face, so it raised his hackles immediately.

"I... why can't you ask Hermione?" Harry finally got out, "I wasn't heading upstairs for my health, you know!"

"Because I hate her, and her explanations are boring." Pansy said, "If I wanted facts, I'd talk with her, sure. But that's not what I want."

"I'd really love to say and chat-" Harry said, before colliding face first into the invisible wall Pansy had probably erected just as he was turning to leave.

"I forgave you last time." Pansy said, "I shan't again, so, for the moment, my needs come first."

Harry, who by this point was on the floor, and hoping his nose wasn't bleeding - again, sat up, glaring at her. "Okay, ask your questions. But be quick about it, I'd rather not have the people I was supposed to meet stumbling into the both of us in a crooked little alcove on the sixth floor."

"As you wish." Pansy said, her mouth smirking.

Pansy didn't look at all like Hermione Granger, but she had that same look in her eyes. "How do these ... magnets.. work, Potter?"

"They attract metal objects nearby them." Harry Potter said promptly.

"So, you've mentioned, but how do they work?" Pansy asked.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean?" Harry asked, working on not fidgeting, and unsure whether he was really succeeding.

"Can I turn one on and off?" Pansy said, crossing her arms and stating this like it should be obvious.

"No.. but you could summon one, and that'd be about the same difference, I think." Potter responded.

"Except that it'd be sticky with everything from hither to thither." Pansy said. "How about transfiguration? Can I make one of these magnets?"

"I don't see why not..." Harry said.

"And it's all metal? Do metal objects point towards the stone?" Pansy asked.

Harry was shaking his head, and then paused, "Not unless the object was only partially magnetizable metal... like a sword with a wooden hilt."

"Owch, that sounds like it might hurt."

"Yeah. It would." Harry responded.

"What are magnetizable metals? What metals aren't?"

"Mainly steel and iron are magnetizable. Gold, silver, zinc - even bronze and brass aren't."

"Is there any way to hide a magnet?"

"No, but a small one has a very small area of effect." Harry said.

"is there any way to increase a magnet's effect?" Pansy asked.

"yes, but probably not in highly magical areas." Harry said, "And you're going to have to ask Hermione for how."

Pansy sneered at the thought, then added, "What else do you know in that mugglefied head of yours?"

"I'm... not sure." Harry responded

"Typical. Even when you're talking about combat effects, leave it to a Gryffindor to not know what he knows." Pansy sneered.

"Why do you want to know so much?" Harry asked, his brow creased in frustration.

"Knowledge is power, surely you've heard the phrase." Pansy said, her smile wicked sharp, "The more I know, the more I can hurt you." Again, that flash of a smile, somehow more terrifying than Bellatrix Black, who, after all was mad. Pansy smirked, walking off without so much as a thank you or a by your leave.

Harry, for his part, was happy that she was just walking off at all, even if, as he hurried up to the Room, he very much understood why she'd asked him, not Hermione. Hermione loved details, and plenty of things that Pansy just didn't want to know about - the whys, not the hows.

Grudgingly, he accepted that she'd had a point about talking with him instead of Hermione.

Now, he was just going to have to find a way to explain being late. At least Pansy didn't wear enough perfume that he'd reek of _her_.

Harry raced upstairs, his instincts propelling him forward almost faster than he could keep his balance. He had one thought in his head, which was that someone was going to kill each other. It was so allconsuming that he didn't pay attention to how many stairs he climbed, or anything like that. Just one foot in front of the other.

He ran into the room of requirement, not even checking that it had the right shaped door. "Blimey, mate, what happened to you?" Ron asked, looking bluntly concerned.

"Find another girl to shove in a closet?" Draco Malfoy oozed, his greasy words as oily as his hair.

"You could try showing up on time, you know." Hermione said, her hands on her hips.

Harry distantly registered that he wasn't actually panting, as he looked them over. They'd all been sitting in various stages of... meditation or stretching, it looked like. Well, with nobody dead, Harry supposed he couldn't complain.

"Sorry, I kind of got caught in something..." Harry muttered looking down at his feet.

"Is that a blush?" Draco Malfoy asked.

Harry Potter said, looking straight into Malfoy's eyes (the effect was limited, as they were half a room away from each other), "So what if it is? I blush at the drop of a hat." Harry gave an incredulous look to Malfoy, who responded by raising his hands.

"Alright, alright," Draco said, "Truce." And he ended that with a flick of his lips and a gentle snort, which told Harry that he had really just been playing around.

"What's the game, boys?" Harry said, and then belatedly added, "And girl." And then caught the glare from Hermione, and started backing away hurriedly.

"I can be part of the guys, Harry James Potter." Hermione said, advancing on him.

Malfoy, who'd somehow managed to dance close to Ron while this scene was playing out, was avidly watching the scene. Still, he said to Ron - his eyes still trained on the quarreling pair, "Maybe we'd better start dueling. Wouldn't want them to get a jump on us, would we?"

"Deal." Ron responded, in the same low voice, and they began to spar.

"I'm sorry, I"m sorry!" Harry said, holding his hands above his head, until Hermione dropped her wand, looking almost striken, and then Harry peeked out from behind his arms, smirking.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, "you tricked me!"

And the room exploded in fireworks.

By the time the room had cleared, everyone had hit the decks. "Who did that?" Harry asked, confused.

"Weasel-eah" Draco said, and then, at everyone's look of blank incomprehension, "as opposed to weaselbee?"

"Oi, that could use some work." Ron said.

"Duels okay with everyone?" Harry said, but didn't let anyone get a word in edgewise, before he started flinging spells around.

"Sorry, I guess not." He said impishly. Thing was, Harry was good on the offense, and so everyone else in the room was hiding, dodging, or waiting patiently for Harry to make a mistake

The best defense is a good offense isn't strictly true, Harry thinks, but it's what I've been trained in, so I'd better end this show. Harry maneuvered himself near one of the couches, before diving straight behind it, using the moment when he was completely shielded to call to mind a different spell.

The end of training left them all sweaty, half laughing, half exhaustedly slumped. "Butterbeer!" Ron called, and it appeared.

For a moment, Malfoy and Hermione stopped and stared at it, while Harry grabbed a flagon and started to drink.

"It's not real. It can't be..." They both whispered, and then their eyes met, startled, to hear their words coming out of someone else's mouth.

"Don't care," Harry Potter said, with a broad grin, "It tastes right."

With a shrug, Hermione picked up a stein, and said, "Fortune favor the foolish!" Her grin was wide, and the two laggard boys lept to keep up.

"More!" Ron said, and more appeared - as everyone'd drained their steins.

Harry thought of the time, and saw a window appear, showing the light fading. _Shite, I was supposed to meet with Snape_ . Harry quaffed the last of his butterbeer, and then stood, saying, "I gotta run."

"Got some hot closet action going on?" Malfoy said, in that knife-in-your-side manner he had. For him, it was almost affectionate, Harry supposed.

"Not exactly." Harry said, "As if I could keep a secret like that - the entire school'd know within a week!" Harry laughed, though no one else did.

"Well, for once, I just might not tell them," Malfoy said with a smirk that was so familiar Harry briefly wanted to punch it.

"Wouldn't matter. Never matters, really." Harry said, and with that realization, had managed to ... if not forgive Malfoy, to forget about a lot of things he'd been holding against him for really no reason. With that, he slipped out the door, leaving everyone else still basking in the post-duel glow.

It wasn't the dancing lessons, that was for sure, Harry thought as he lept down the stairs, taking them three and four at a time, using the bannisters to jump over fading or moving steps. and bank around turns. If he thought of the whole thing as flying, it just clicked, in his head.

Before he'd really wanted to get there, he was right at Snape's door, and knocking, trying - mostly in vain, to moderate his breathing.

"Enter." Snape's voice called clearly through the door.

So Harry did, closing the door behind him as soon as he was through. He stood there, nearly against the door, looking at Snape. Idly, he wondered what Snape saw when Harry looked at him - really looked. Right now, Harry was just assessing how ... depleted Snape looked. Professor Snape standing was a good sign, if only Harry could trust it. He'd forced himself through things enough times to know how possible it was, and it was quite a bit more powerful for Snape.

"I believe you have a report for me," Snape said, one eyebrow raised in questioning interest.

"On what, sir?" Harry asked.

"On an interaction you witnessed between Lucius Malfoy and members of the Hogwarts staff." Snape said, rapping it out quickly enough that Harry knew he was starting to get annoyed, even if he wasn't to the point of showing it yet.

Harry's brow creased, and suddenly he blurted out, "But sir! you were there!"

"All the more reason that I can intelligently evaluate your report." Snape said implacably.

Harry Potter forced himself to stillness, thinking over what happened. Almost without thinking, he began to pace, still near the door, letting his feet move when his mind needed to stay sharp and focused.

Snape forbore to comment, and Harry was quietly glad. Snape wanted a good report, then, and not a rushed one.

Harry wheeled to face his professor, and stated calmly, "Professor McGonagall was there. I can't figure out whether that was intentional - on your part, or not."

Snape said, softly, "She does have access to the wards, and know when they've been breached by someone who's not authorized."

Harry frowned at this, thinking, "Dumbledore does as well, doesn't he?" Snape gives a slight nod of almost begrudging assent. "Then you_ had_ to have planned this beforehand."

"Oh?" Snape asked, with that irritating eyebrow raise.

"If you hadn't had it planned, then the Headmaster might have just as easily shown up as McGonagal." Harry said firmly. "Even I've heard about Dumbledore and Malfoy feuding over Fudge's ear."

"Why would we have wanted McGonagall to show up at all?" Snape queried.

"An intentional insult, and a reminder. Malfoy hasn't exactly escaped the last few years spotless, even if he's not in prison yet."

Snape smirked, asking, "You think he will be?"

"What's that saying?" Harry Potter said firmly, "Orders are orders. In spite of himself, Mister Malfoy may have no choice."

"You think the Dark Lord would be so foolish as to waste one of his Inner Circle?" Snape asked.

"Tom doesn't appear to be much more stable than Bellatrix Black, and she's at least been in Azkaban for years, sir."

Snape inclined his head, as if to suggest that Harry'd scored a point.

"You called Mister Malfoy an old friend - but you didn't seem to act like friends. You were needling him, sir"

"Then you've missed a layer or two, Potter. How many people do you think Mister Malfoy would allow to do such to him without consequence?" Snape asked.

"One, sir. And not you." Harry responded promptly. "He might see it as a matter of honor. I know Draco would, sir." It felt odd to be using Malfoy's first name, particularly when this conversation wasn't entirely academic.

"You're right, that there will be consequences - though I assure you, they may not be the ones you expect." Snape smirked, as if he knew something that Harry didn't.

"Would you have come up with some other reason to punish your house, if they hadn't muffed the assignment, sir?" Harry Potter asked, "Was the assignment entirely aimed towards punishing Mister Malfoy?"

"I never do something with only one reason." Snape said coolly, "And if you object to that being the only reason for the punishment, perhaps you could craft another goal for the assignment? Something to make it worthwhile for the students, and not just me picking points with Malfoy."

Harry's brain whirled, as he stepped back a pace, nodding, "I'll try sir. May I have a moment?" This time he did not pace, but merely thought of all that mud, forming a sea in front of him. But he'd cleaned worse than that before. What are the advantages of cleaning something? For that was really what the Slytherins had done.

Harry thought, and thought some more. His mind was back at the Dursleys, and he'd never, ever, even Once stopped to think he was learning something from cleaning. He HATED cleaning. At least when you made food, you did something productive. People ate what you made, and were happy. But cleaning? It always got mussed up, and then you had to do it all over again And again, And again.

"Persistence, Dedication." Harry said, more talking to himself than anyone else.

"Difficult things to test in class, wouldn't you say, Potter?"

"No, sir, you test them every day in Potions." Harry responded, his voice rapping like a cane on cobblestones.

"If I do, then it is hardly useful in this context, is it not?" Snape responded.

Harry nodded, his eyes shut, again. He was thinking back to how much he hated cleaning, his hands fisted by his sides. How every time he stepped in the door at the Dursleys... he could see Every Single Thing Wrong. He had hated being able to see that, but... but it was a skill, and one he'd learned long and hard.

"When I was a child, I was stuck cleaning a lot." Harry Potter said.

"Doubtless because your relatives didn't trust you with harder chores." Snape said snidely. Harry opted for ignoring him - he'd either seen enough to know the truth, or he wasn't likely to listen, so why bother protesting?

"Maybe so." Harry said, grinning, "But they trusted me with cooking at the tender age of five, so I'd say it's unlikely, _sir_." Abruptly, Harry found that his tongue had decided to speak up anyway. From the twitch of the edge of Snape's mouth, he approved of the logical argument. Possibly he'd just been expecting Harry to have a conniption.**

"Cleaning was the one chore I hated. I liked gardening, even when I had to steal water from the hose like a dog. I liked cooking - it was useful. But cleaning, sir? Every time I cleaned, something was always unclean before I turned around." Harry said, his hands still shaking a bit. "It didn't matter whether I'd get scolded or not. I'd still know."

"Your Point, Potter?" Snape asked.

"Perception, sir." Harry said, and his eyes abruptly twinkled. "You're going to do a Scavenger Hunt!" Harry hadn't participated in any, of course, but he'd seen some of the other children playing at Piers' birthday party (Harry had simply been sitting, for once not the focus of a Harry Hunting game. He'd liked that, it was a good memory).

"What is a Scavenger Hunt, and how does it fit into my classes?" Snape asked softly, his eyes sharp on Harry's sparkling green ones.

"Defense. If you need to know if someone's come by - and you can't just look at footprints."

Harry's sour voice at the last must have made Snape interrupt snidely, "Oh, you realized that, did you?"

"Credit Parkinson," Harry said firmly.

"I shall, and I shall also credit you." Snape said.

"Me? Why?" Harry asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"It is a rare person who knows all the answers. Listening closely enough to gain information from others - particularly those who are not so patient as to tell you outright." Snape said, "Clever questions will take you far, but learning how to listen will take you farther."

After that, Harry didn't want to admit that Pansy had as much as told him outright, so he just kept silent.

"Continue with your report, Potter." Snape said, and Harry tried to stand up a bit straighter, taking note of the formality in his professor's voice. It helped him draw a bit of a distinction between Snape-the-Teacher and Snape-the-Death-Eater.

"I didn't understand it all, but sir, Mister Malfoy seemed upset at you breaking his ... toys? He seems a bit old to be playing with them, and you don't see like the type to be breaking ... toys." Harry said, sounding baffled.

"Surely you aren't so lackluster as to miss the metaphor." Snape sneered.

"Even so, I don't know what he's referring to." Harry said.

"In this case, he's referring to Cornelius Fudge..." Snape said, his voice drawling and quiet at the same time.

"The Minister?" Harry's eyes bulged, and he caught a glimpse of Snape looking smug (though that look seemed perpetually around the man, if not always shown). In a slightly higher pitched voice, Harry asked, "_How_ did you break the _Minister_?"

"Oh, surely you've guessed." Snape said, smirking, "I merely pulled him out of politicking and into campaigning mode." If there was anyone who could look more catlike smug than Snape, Harry Potter was quite glad to have never met them.

Harry groaned, understanding, "He's too busy trying to get campaign contributions..." Harry looked up at Snape, eyes wide. "Am I... going to have to deal with him...?"

"Actually, the point was rather to have you _not_." Snape said, his voice snide.

"Thank goodness, I'm not sure I'm ready to have the Minister sucking up to me..." Harry said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Starting to see some benefits from your fall from Saviour Status?" Snape smirked, "Not being courted by Fudge serves two purposes: First, it makes him more interested, and Second, it keeps you out of Hogsmeade. Otherwise known as out of trouble." Snape somehow managed to finish that by looking down his long nose at Harry.

Harry backed up a pace, purely so he could glare into Snape's eyes. "Hey! I've been perfectly capable of staying out of trouble when I've been in Hogsmeade!"

"Including throwing snowballs from under an invisibility cloak?" Snape asked, "When you weren't even supposed to be _in_ Hogsmeade!"

Harry refused to blush. Harry refused to blush. Harry was blushing anyway. "_Harmless_ fun! And I _should_ have been able to go, everyone else was going!"

"Mercilessly attacking someone who couldn't even tell there was an enemy nearby?" Snape purred.

"They were _snowballs_!" Harry said, and despite himself and his fists at his side, he cracked up laughing. Snape, amazingly, waiting until he was done before continuing to question Harry.

"Repeat back everything you didn't understand. Precisely." Snape said, and the look in his eyes would brook no defiance.

Harry tried, he really did, but is there ever a time when you actually remember what you didn't understand? Harry had been too caught up in _don't get caught_...He hadn't been, as he'd done often at the Dursleys, just the mouse with very big ears. And so, with every painstaking, often mangled word, he knew he'd done wrong, and his heart twisted deep in his belly.

And Snape watched him like a hawk - or, more precisely, an owl. Silent, and unforgiving.

"Whenever you do not understand something, that is precisely the point where you must pay the most attention. Particularly when you are around Slytherins, but everyone uses code some of the time. And, if you are very lucky, the code might be one that someone else understands." Snape said gravely, and Harry could do nothing other than hang his head.

"And what if no one knows the code?" Harry asked, in a voice softer than a whisper.

Snape replied likewise, "Then look to your friend Miss Granger, for logic can unravel many a puzzle set to ensnare unwary minds."

Harry nodded, and Snape said, "Continue, then."

"You said that Malfoy's superior - Tom, I think, would not approve of Minister Fudge-?" Harry asked, his voice both tentative and strong, like a darting silverfish.

"I did." Snape said, nodding as his hair fell into his eyes.

"Mister Malfoy was quick to say that he didn't owe you anything- " Harry said, breaking off, "Why would he even think he'd - he didn't ask you for anything-"

"Actions taken on behalf of another often imply that the helped should show gratitude." Snape said gravely.

"And he was trying to say that he didn't believe that you were acting on his behalf!" Harry said, nodding, "You gain much from Fudge's inattention, do you not?"

"So I wish him to believe, at any rate." Snape said, his velveteen voice echoing softly through the room.

"And... and you also want him to believe that Tom does as well!" Harry shook his head, "How does Tom win? I thought Fudge would be good for him, for suppressing news of his return?"

"No one at the helm of government means that no one is watching for subversion." Snape said, flashing his teeth in that wolfish mockery of a smile, "And that's my specialty." Something cold wrapped around Harry's heart at that, leaving him wondering if he'd been subverted by Snape. If that was even possible, and if he'd realize it if he was...

Harry shook his head, to leave off pointless thinking and pay attention, "You told him that you didn't think he was good company!" Harry said with a mirthless chuckle.

"And he was probing you about us, maybe even about me." Harry said, his hands fiddling idly with his robe. "That says he finds us still of some interest, even without..."

"His son does, certainly," Snape said, "Although that may be as much for lack of anything better to focus on." Snape said with a snippy sniff. "Still he'd hardly be the first parent to want an unbiased report on his child's wild fantasies."

Harry's eyes bulged at that, wondering all of a sudden what Malfoy had been telling his father about the Gryffindor escapades. Malfoy had a silver tongue at the best of times - but his exaggeration could potentially sell them far above their actual strengths. Assuming he was exaggerating, at least.

"Or," Snape said, "He might just be interested in those lion-breasted brats who defeated him." Snape said with a sneer. "He's hardly had the sort of daily runnings-in that I do, you know."

Harry found himself wanting to squint at that, wondering, suddenly, why those words in particular sounded both strange, and fitting, on Snape's tongue. Something wasn't quite right...

Harry found his chin tilting up, all without his consent, as he bullied on, "You called me boy! I heard you!" His eyes flashed Avada-green, "You wanted to see if I'd crack-" Harry said, his hands fisting by his sides, "You never call me that!" Harry's face lit up with a wide grin.

Snape's eyes merely widened a fraction, and he nodded slightly, "Where better to test you than in a school, I wonder?"

Harry shook his head, continuing as if a bull in a china shop, "But that just begs the question - what are you testing me for?"

"Capabilities, in the main, although the training is that of a spy." Snape said blandly, as if he wasn't letting a bull loose in Harry's china shop of a brain.

"A... spy? Why?" Harry asked, unsure, suddenly that he wanted to know the answer and yet pell mell asking it anyway.

"Because whatever we do, whatever we say, it seems you are hell bent and determined to do it anyway." Snape said, his voice hard as steel. "Might as well do it right, eh?" Snape managed that last while leaning down until his face was almost pressed against Harry's.

"Yes, sir." Harry said, meeting him eye to eye.

"I doubt you'd ever prove decent at infiltration, so don't worry about needing to lie your way into the Dark Lord's residence." Snape said offhandedly, "But that's hardly the only skill a spy uses."

"You have another question," Snape said, his limbs in graceful motion like a cat's as he paced around the room. "Ask it."

Harry looked at Snape - really looked, and then said, in a small voice, "You won't want to answer, sir."

"That is my perogative, yes." Snape said, and in a voice that oozed a caramelized glee, "Ask it anyway."

"What were you and Mister Malfoy talking about, sir?" Harry Potter asked, trying to pitch his voice into the penitent range, and figuring he was abysmally failing.

"I shall tell you this - and it shall be this time only, as for once in Mister Malfoy's life, his goals and Dumbledore's coincide." Snape said. Harry said nothing, just looked, expectant and open. "After all, Mister Malfoy would hardly wish his son thrust into the throes of an active war, now would he?" Snape's mouth curled up into the ghost of a smirk.

"I won't get into the details, but suffice it to say, we are all dancing for the amusement of the Dark Lord at this moment." Snape turned, abruptly, flashing his eyes at Harry. "When he stops being amused, people will begin to die."

"I see, sir." Harry said.

"Your report was nearly acceptable," Snape said sternly, "At least you were clever enough to not get caught."

Harry's green eyes found Snape's, and he couldn't quite stop himself from blurting out, "What would you have done then, sir?"

"Oh, probably nothing," Snape said lightly, "What would you expect from two Death Eater's in Dumbledore's personal domain?"

Harry blinked, once, and then twice, "Pain, sir."

"Too true. Nothing permanent, of course - that would be too noticeable." Snape sniffed, "I would have stopped him, of course, if he'd gotten beyond the realm of punishment."

"You don't think he would, though," Harry observed.

"No," Snape said. "You are dismissed."

Harry made for the door as if the winds of Hades were at his back. He'd already had one question answered that he hadn't deserved the answer to. He didn't want to press his luck.

**making an exception to my "harry doesn't know long words" because this seems exactly the type of word that Petunia would use. Harry's more sharp than intelligent.

*Think waltz, it's a distinctly gliding varietal of music, about the polar opposite of a Sousa March.


	19. Predators don't die old

Harry, as he ascended to Gryffindor tower, was pleased to see that he was far less out of breath than he'd have been this time last year. Training - it hadn't brought him muscles like Cedric had, but endurance was what he _needed_.

Every step upwards, Harry had been bothered by a simple question, _Who was Snape's Gryffindor friend?_ It was an aggravating question, one that didn't seem likely to go away, and bothered him at the most inconvenient of times. An itch that he couldn't scratch, and that when he tried to scratch it it just got worse.

By the time he reached the Fat Lady, he had resolved that he'd ask _someone_. The only question was _who_?

Harry stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room, and immediately all those wispy thoughts were burnt off like fog on a summer's noontime. Hermione was there, her feet resting on the couch, her arms engulfing a pillow. Her head rested on it, and from the looks of it, Harry could see that she'd been crying.

_"What's wrong?"_ Harry asked, "Got a spell you couldn't master?"

Hermione sniffled, and said, crossly, "E-e-everyone's got someone, except me!"

Harry looked at Hermione, and then looked cross himself, and said, "What, am I nobody now?!"

Hermione looked up, mustering a small smile, and said, "Of course not, Harry, you're my best friend."

"Who do I have?" Harry asked, trying to summon one of those cocksure smiles that his father had had in Snape's pensive (and _very deliberately_ ignoring any other thoughts about that).

"Oh, Harry, how do you always know what to say?" Hermione said. "I thought I wanted to have Ron - but if he's really serious about Lavender, then I was clearly wrong!"

"You never have liked her, have you?" Harry said.

"We have nothing in common, so I truly can't see what Ron sees in her." Hermione said, and Harry wisely decided not to bring up her sex drive.

"Me neither. Maybe he just sees someone who honestly thinks he's better than she is? Someone who will fawn over him." Harry said dubiously.

"But that's such a horrible idea for a relationship!" Hermione said.

Harry responded dolefully, "I know, Hermione, I know."

And then, abruptly, it was Hermione that was consoling Harry, saying, "Oh, don't worry, you'll find someone, eventually, who can see past The Boy Who Lived."

"Let's get up to bed, before Professor McGonagall catches us." Harry said, for once taking the words out of Hermione's mouth.

Harry Potter was up in the morning, again, running laps around the castle. He'd have invited Neville, if he figured the notoriously late sleeper could actually manage to get up this early. As it was, Harry ran with senses pricked - at the sound of a cracked twig from behind him, he tucked himself into a roll, mourning the mud he was splattering all over his robes. He felt rather than saw the stunner going over him, and his hand reached out, casting a spell without his wand drawn. Harry heard Snape curse, as he flung himself over the wicked blade that Harry'd sent out. Snape was still disillusioned, of course, so it would look like Harry was fighting imaginary enemies. Harry sprang to his feet and launched himself into a full-out sprint, knowing there was a decent secret entrance just around the way. He could almost hear Snape following - with that long legged, leaping lope of his. Just the slightest of crunches - far too quiet for Harry to actually hear over his own breathing.

_There!_ Harry flung himself into the entrance, hitting the secret stones with his full bodyweight, and plummeting inside. He watched as Snape's footprints danced past him. Harry grinned, satisfied.

Severus Snape had been dealing with the High Table, and its gossips, for _years_. Every year they found _something_ to josh with him about - mostly a running bet on which Hufflepuff he'd make cry first, and how many would cry before the end of the year. Snape was fairly certain they'd all lost that bet this year - he was only teaching the upperclassmen, after all. And they were, by and large, used to his ways. Which is to say, even the Hufflepuffs managed to cry _outside_ the classroom. Generally always.

Today it was Minerva, looking at him, those eerie cat eyes in a human face. And Minerva wasn't a gossip, not normally, though they did have a running feud about Quiddich that Snape had started when he was in an irascible mood, and that Minerva had kept up because she was a hysterical fanatic.

Minerva's mouth quirked into a smile that would have looked more natural on Snape's own face. "Dancing, Severus? You had them dancing?!" Her eyes were alight with a peculiar sort of glee.

Severus Snape sat calmly, picking up his Earl Gray tea (hot and black), and taking a sip. Absently, he gestured toward Minerva, as he said calmly, "Whatever works, Minerva. You've heard me say it often enough."

Minerva smirked, and said, "You generally use that old canard to justify having half the Hufflepuff firsties in tears."

"It works, does it not?" Snape said, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"But _you_, Severus _Snape_, had your class _dancing_!" Minerva said, and Snape was glad that she wasn't clapping her hands in glee. She certainly seemed gleeful enough. It was bad enough having this conversation, but having the entire Great Hall be witness to it? That would mean Snape would need to put a stop to it. And he truly didn't need another enemy.

"In battle, you know as well as I do, that being prepared for the unexpected is one of the primary skills." Snape said, taking another dainty sip of tea. "That said, I think the next skill they shall be developing is that of The Hunt." Snape smirked inwardly to himself at his ability to create capitalized words while talking. "I believe you have spent countless hours in feline form, developing your skills in that regard..."

Minerva let out a gentle snort, smiling just a bit, and said, "Of course, would you like some assistance?"

Snape smirked, and said, "I would be most obliged."

"What are they talking about up there?" Nott asked.

"No idea, don't stare," Malfoy responded, his eyes more focused on the Gryffindor table.

Harry climbed the stairs up to the Room, enjoying the warm stretching of his muscles. When he entered the room, though, he nearly stepped back out. Hermione was in there, stackng and sorting assignments and papers and parchments. They were _Everywhere_! Harry was frankly afraid that he'd tumble a pile and then get stabbed by an angry quill.

... and it was Slytherin's turn to teach, too.

Harry somehow doubted that Hermione had told either Malfoy or Goyle about the ... new arrangements.

Harry closed his eyes, willing Hermione and her papers about twenty feet farther from the door.

A safe distance, in other words.

Common sense and Hermione had parted ways a while ago.

(And Hermione was a sensible girl, but far from common about it.)

Harry had had more experience with Hermione's manic side than most - so he settled in to wait. She'd be done (probably) by the time it was classtime, at least.

Goyle came in, about fifteen minutes before most would arrive, carrying a feathered snake - _was that really a quetzlcoatl_? He stopped, looked mutely at what Granger was doing, and said dumbly, "I don't suppose I should have bothered with lesson plans, mm?"

Goyle's gaze on Harry was solid, not accusing, and so Harry found himself saying, "Fraid not, sir."

Goyle stared at Granger, again, and then said, "She's as busy as bees right before winter. What's on the menu?"

"Damned if I know," Harry Potter said honestly, "but Snape was trying to remove all that from the library, so I reckon it's pretty handy."

Goyle continued to look at Granger, responding only with a noncomittal, "Hmmm..."

Harry managed to get the rest of the class into the room without harming Hermione's latest organizational challenge.

She started class about five minutes after it was supposed to start, though everyone wasn't as pleased about it as she seemed to be.

"Wasn't this supposed to be Slytherin's turn?" Zach said, staring, strangely, at me instead of at Hermione. Wait, did he think - Hermione is her own person, and I do _not_ control her.

"We're going to do this differently from now on," Hermione said, "Starting with finding the people with the best knowledge, and splitting our class sizes down. Research has shown-"

"Enough, enough," Malfoy said, "We get it, Gryffindor Granger thinks she gets to change the rules, without consulting anyone."

"Have you seen what I've been looking at here?" Hermione Granger said in a deceptively sweet cadence. Uh-oh, Harry thought, she generally reserves that for when Ron's been exceptionally daft.

From the looks of it, Malfoy knew that just as well as Harry did, "Can't said that I have, considering that you were ensconced in it. Frankly, I was afraid to be closer than a sneeze, for fear of disturbing... _that_." Harry swallowed a chuckle, noticing - not for the first time - that Malfoy was actually humorous, so long as he wasn't turning his barbed tongue in your direction.

"Snape wanted to remove these books from the Hogwarts library!" Hermione said, starting to get on a roll (by which we mean starting up her steamroller voice). Quickly and succinctly she explained first what had happened (including their dramatic rescue of the books, which got all of a sentence), and then exactly how much of a goldmine the books were.

"Where would you start first?" Malfoy asked, and Harry saw that by taking up the lead of talking with Granger, he was actively stealing it from Zach, whose arrogant nature would be most likely to disagree with Hermione just for the sake of disagreeing.

Hermione said, "Spells first, as they take a while to master. I have a list of spells here," Hermione waved her wand and duplicated it 50 times. "Mark off any which you know, and circle any that you are proficient at." Hermione breathed in, "I think we can all do some teaching, right?" Hermione being Hermione she didn't see Hannah shuddering at even the thought of teaching.

Hermione Granger wasn't the best person to teach a class. She had a tendency to get derailed onto irrelevancies, and often came up with explanations that were word for word from the book. However, what she lacked in talent, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

Harry kept a mental tally of the spells that she was demonstrating, knowing that most of the room would need to practice them for a week to get good at a single one. Of course, it would be Harry's job to prevent Hermione from launching herself at new spells at the next practice session.

Still, because she was going to have to show them again (and again. And Again), he didn't really need to pay attention. He focused his eyes on Draco Malfoy, curious to see. You know, when not in Potions (where it seemed Draco had most things already memorized) or Care (where Malfoy spent most of his time making fun of Hagrid, and as much as Harry liked Hagrid, he had to admit that occasionally Draco had a point. A very mean point, but still).

Turns out, that when Draco Malfoy wasn't busy showing off, he acted remarkably like Hermione Granger did while learning. Took notes quietly, listened attentively, attempted the spells without being unduly successful.

Absolutely NONE of which was helpful, for Harry Potter didn't want to _teach_ Draco Malfoy anything. He wanted a ... favor. A _something_, at any rate. And if he didn't phrase this just right, Draco Malfoy _would_ blow him off, he just _knew_ it!

It would be odd to say, but it was even odder to see - certain people were starting to take arriving at Snape's ... martial... class as the highlight of their days. After all, it was always _interesting_. Harry Potter wouldn't have expected that - the often dour professor certainly didn't seem the 'exciting' sort that Lockhart had been, or even the 'nice' sort like Remus Lupin.

But, if there are some things you had to see to believe, Harry was, belatedly, seeing this one.

Hufflepuffs, in the main, with some Ravenclaws. People enough out of the direct fire that they could treat this as just a class, albeit one that gives its students whiplash.

Some of the Gryffindors attempted to swagger in, but the mood of "This is Snape's Class" had them circling up and looking defensive, slightly hunkering down with hands nearing their wands.

The Slytherins, as always when they weren't baiting someone, were quiet. Neutral. Silent.

Harry and his friends weren't really in any of the categories, so they sat together, waiting. Harry was too attentive to fidget, wondering if Snape was already in the room with them, invisible. Or if today would be the day when they got creatures. Yanno, like falling spiders. Falling invisible spiders.

They never look up. Harry thought firmly, remembering Dudley, and resolutely relaxing into a stance.

Snape entered in his usual swirl of robes, proving that Harry really wasn't becoming a psychic. He lept onto the small podium, and launched in, without even greeting people. As this was usual, people mostly just listened (except if they were overachievers like Hermione Granger, in which case they tried to take notes despite the obvious lack of a place to write on. At least she wasn't writing on Ron.)

"How does one win a battle?" Snape said.

"By working well with others." Susan Bones said.

"And...?" Snape prompted, not content to either dismiss her or completely turn his attention to her.

"Death." Someone unidentifiable said from the back of the room, "By killing people."

"Alternatives?" Snape said.

"Incapacitation. If they can't hurt you, you've probably won." Seamus said, his mouth threatening to grin, despite the serious conversation.

"And the obvious problem with that inane approach?" Snape responded.

"They can recover. Knock a man good in the head, and he's down. Kill him, and he's down for good." That was Tracey Davis, of all people. Not the person Harry'd expected to say anything, let alone _that_.

"How does an auror prevent that?" Snape said, his eyes flashing around the room. "MacMillan. Your answer."

"By... locking people up?" He said, the answer coming more as a question than anything else.

"On the field of battle, not afterwards." Snape derided with an eyeroll.

"Ropes, apparation, stupefication." That was Ron, who generally knew better than to say something in Snape's class. Of course, Snape's class was generally potions, so...

Snape didn't so much as acknowledge that Ron Weasley had said something. Knowing Snape, that was practically equivalent to a "well done." Instead, he straightened, and began to speak.

"Today, class, your assignment will be in the form of experiential learning. That is to say, your grade will be as dependent upon your further reflection - in the form of a forty inch essay, as on your accomplishments in class." Snape smirked slightly at the audible groans from the back of the room.

"Death, or simulated death, is not the objective. Instead, it is capture. I will leave it as an exercise for my pupils as to why that would be necessary in time of war. You may put that in your essay, if you like - lay out those further objectives and the means to complete current objectives while leaving plenty of room to accomplish latter goals." Snape said, "You should all be familiar with at least a few spells to capture someone..."

"This will be a solo mission - any cooperation, intentional or otherwise, will be penalized harshly." Snape continued. Some of the students were beginning to look around uneasily. "For the rest of the class, you will be allowed to cast spells throughout Hogwarts, as therein lies your quarry. Do not abuse this, or you will regret it." Knowing Snape, that meant cauldrons. Still, he hadn't said what constituted abuse, so presumably any DADA spell used on a classmate was still defensible. More precisely, Snape undoubtedly meant "hexing Filch, portraits or ghosts, or, _especially_underclassmen"

"Any questions?" Snape asked. And waited, and waited some more. "Fools." he growled, "Is not one of you going to ask what your quarry is?"

People shuffled their feet, and finally, Neville Longbottom said, "Sir, what is our quarry?"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for being slower than a snail, and another twenty for letting the cat catch your tongue." Snape smirked. _He doesn't like Gryffindors,_ Harry thought, repeating the words to himself for good measure. That didn't stop his nails from digging into the palms of his hands, but it at least meant they weren't drawing blood.

"Your Quarry is cats. There will, of course, be a sliding scale of difficulty, which will affect your grade. Catch an easy cat, and you will get easy points. If you return it to this classroom. Catch more difficult quarries, and your grade will rise." Snape smirked, and said, "Happy Hunting." Harry found himself annoyed, and annoyed at himself for being annoyed - the words, not pointed at him, reminded him of "Harry Hunting."

As students whispered among themselves - only the most courageous setting off first thing, they all turned towards the door. Well, Harry didn't. He saw Snape fold in on himself, as he sat on the edge of the dais - looking almost crumpled. _Probably wants a chance to sleep_ Harry thought. _He's actually not following us out._

Troubled, Harry emerged from the classroom, one of the last people out. _Crookshanks_, was Harry's first thought - that bright orange beast of a furball had to be good for points. Of course, the trouble was finding him. Even if he was up in Hermione's room, that'd be tricky to ascend to.

The truly difficult part about catching a cat with Magic, Harry Potter soon discovered, was finding a cat in the first place. He knew the names of three cats - two of whom found lying on him delightful in the Gryffindor common room.

And he just _knew_ that Hermione (and, unfortunately, Ron) would be after Crookshanks.

Crookshanks was a willful little beast, and Harry knew that he'd have just one shot if the blighter hadn't gotten out of Hermione's room. He skated out onto the third floor balcony.* With a thought, he cast "Accio Broom" - it wasn't his Firebolt, but the school broom that came to his hand would take him. Probably. He eyed it dubiously for a moment, and then vaulted onto it.

Up it went, a little fast and a little shakily. He pointed it straight for Gryffindor Tower, and as he nearly hit the wall, pointed it straight up. He could hear someone shouting, "Hey, that's Harry Potter!" - probably someone in Divination, about to predict Harry's unfortunate, but sadly predictable, death.

Harry shot to the Gryffindor Girls' Dorm, and peeked in at Crookshanks, dreamily sleeping on Hermione's bed. Or, he was, until Harry blocked his sunbeam. It was at this point that Harry realized he'd need to open the window. The Probably Locked window. In the meantime, Crookshanks grumpily stood up, readying himself to jump off the bed. Harry stuck his hand out, trying to push up on the top of the window.

Yup. Locked.

Naturally, it was at this point that Hermione raced into the room, cooing, "Crooksie!" Her cat obediently scampered over to her welcoming arms.

_Rats!_ Harry thought, even as Lavender and Parvati made it into the room, looking jealously at Hermione. "You hadn't thought you'd get _my_ cat, did you?" Hermione said stuffily.

_Neville probably has MollyWimpkins and Sneazl by now_, Harry thought. _If I was a cat, where would I be?_

Harry thought of Mrs. Figg's cats, and then of Filch. _No, if I was a cat, I'd be up on top of the castle, stalking innocent birds._

Snape had been anticipating the languid furballs arriving first. Surprisingly, it was Neville Longbottom who was back with the first cats (apparently some liked to catch butterflies in the greenhouses. How they were getting into said greenhouses, which were outside the castle, Merlin only knew.

"Leave the cat by the door." Snape said, words that he would repeat, _even_ as he lay looking upward on the podium, watching all the students. And McGonagall, whose sense of humor was no doubt tickled pink to be participating.

There she goes again, tripping another of my Slytherins, Snape thought with a very slight quirk of the mouth - his thin lips and thinner smiles were difficult to read even in the best of times. And this was far from that.

Snape was taking notes in his head, as he watched the viewing spells above him. Goyle was doing well at this; while Neville had come back with two cats, Goyle could carry a dozen (in the carrier case, gently bound in white bathtowels). Apparently Greg Goyle knew where the _best_ sunbeams were.

_Oof!_ Snape thought as one of the cats thoughtfully pounced on his chest. He gave the cat a sure scritch, running up behind the ears - his sadistic fingers turning their learning backward, to cause pleasure instead of pain. "Off you go," He said sternly, his melodic voice belying his words, as he sent the cat by basic portkey to a new location in the castle. The last of the cat he heard was a startled yowl. Apparently, the cat wasn't done being petted yet.

_Ooof!_ That was a bigger cat.

Snape smirked at Pansy Parkinson, who had thought to get a bowl of cream. Pity she wouldn't have to deal with the cats after class, such a fatty diet would only make them sick. And Malfoy? He apparently thought his voice would properly attract cats. Unfortunately, they didn't know about his wealth, his father, or any such mishegoss. Haughty as always, the cats were ignoring him.

Seamus Finnegan had actually managed to set a cat on fire. If Snape believed he'd done it apurpose, he'd have expelled the fool. As it was, at least the next lad in the hallway, Dean Thomas, had the sense to cast an Aguamenti. Sadly, neither of them apparently believed in drying cats off. So, five minutes later, Severus Snape had to explain to them what they'd done to the poor thing they'd immobilized for the trip down. Without the ability to shiver, the cat had just been getting colder. And-"What's proper practice for dealing with those who've experienced moderate hypothermia? Without your wand?" The dolts of course didn't know. Snape merely got out a large quilted bag, and bade them both crawl in... along with the cat.

Returning to watching the others, he nestled into his robes, waiting for the screams.

Harry Potter flew (slowly, and excruciatingly carefully) his hoard of cats back to the classroom. It had taken him nearly all of the classtime to gather the cats that he had... wrapping them gently in white bath towels, leaving their baleful eyes promising murder.

"_There_ you are, Mr Potter," Snape said with his characteristic impatience. "As classtime is not yet over, you may be excused." Harry, however, had no sooner turned to leave than Greg Goyle came stumbling through the door, scratches covering his arms and back.

_Wait. Was that McGonagall? Was she... sleeping?_

Snape spared Mr. Goyle only a gentle glance, his eyes still mainly focused on monitoring his class. "Thank you Mr Goyle. I believe you are the first today to bag the formidable witch. If I were you, I'd be out of this room forthwith, as when I give her the antidote, she may wish to take her anger out on your suspecting hands."

"Thank you sir," Goyle said, sending a weary, gratified smile towards Potter.

Harry left the room, knowing a dismissal when given it, but more interested in how everyone else was doing than actually catching more cats. Harry was rapidly learning that people's reactions during Snape's class were predictive of a large range of future behavior.

Harry Potter had arrived back in class, as had most of the students, just in time to be dismissed. It wasn't a deliberate slight - the only people who hadn't come back at all were either lost (probable in Boot's case, the lickspittle...), or had failed to catch anything at all. That was more probable with Seamus, whose temperament seemed the type to scare cats. And he seemed like the cheerful type who'd still be rigging up some sort of trap to capture animals that truly didn't like him.

"Dismissed," Snape said, "Two feet of parchment at least on what you learned today." Oddly enough, Snape didn't even stand to dismiss people, so most of their eyes were on the ceiling. And a good thing too, as who really wanted to stare at Snape's plaid socks? Must have gotten them as a gift from McGonagall.

A bit concerned, Harry was about the last person to leave. Except, well, he really didn't leave. He waited for Snape to acknowledge him.

"Potter, get out of here. Any questions you have can wait until another day." Snape sigh-snarled, his voice mildly irritated.

_Something was __definitely__ wrong._

The rest of the day sped by, as if on great eagle wings, until it was time for Practice in the Room. Harry found it odd to be fighting against three, and worse when he was deliberately handicapping himself by not using area spells. Not even ones that they'd learned in class. Cut, pierce, stun. All direct action, all, well, Gryffindor spells.

Not that Ron was using anything like those spells. He was using that odd, perplexing list of spells that he'd learned over the summer. Harry could see Hermione's eyes sparkling with interest, and the banked frustration that was Snape's demand that they not try to learn Ron's spells. Even Draco looked interested, his gray eyes glinting silver like the greedy dragon he was named for.

Somehow, practice was different than with Snape. Here, it felt almost like they were goofing off. Snape always had a purpose for whatever spell he was casting. Often more than one.

Practice, however, was like throwing pasta at the wall until it stuck. If you got upset with a shield spell not working, you fired off a stunner in someone else's direction - rarely actually hitting, but good for the mind.

By the end of practice, Harry felt wrung out, like Aunt Petunia's faded dishrags that used to be sunshine yellow, but were now just a drab yellow-dunny color. They all sprawled on the floor, panting to catch their breaths (Harry vaguely recalled that you shouldn't pant to catch your breath, but he was far too tired to pay attention).

As usual, carping seemed like a good idea when you were stuck in a room with people you'd just cursed from East to West. "We've got Snape's essay to write... That's going to be a bear." Harry groaned.

"Did you even catch a cat?" Malfoy responded.

"Loads. Just - Did you know Goyle caught McGonagall?" Harry said.

Draco Malfoy responded to that with a louder groan, "Full points to him, then. And guess who's got to help him with his essay?"

"How did he manage that, I wonder?" Hermione began to bubble - even her normally hyperactive speech slowed down by being out of breath.

"You could ask him tomorrow." Ron said sensibly, and Harry actually began to wonder - because that wasn't something Ron would have said last year.

The complaining continued, moving on to McGonagall herself, and then to the Arithmancy teacher, who was apparently stricter than Snape. If that was possible. At least, according to Hermione, the Arithmancy teacher knew how to smile on the regular. Snape showing a true smile, rather than flashes of wolfish teeth and unadulterated malic, was as unlikely as a July snowfall. Finally, Ron said, "I'm gonna get a shower," wearily climbing to his feet.

"Maybe you can tell me how that bludger nearly hit Snowflake?" Hermione said, standing slowly and arching her back until it popped. Leave it to Hermione to not understand what that _particular_position showed off. All the boys averted their gazes - _belatedly_.

The door closed after Ron and Hermione. Harry, so tired that his thoughts kept trying to leak away from his head, like trying to carry water in a sieve, startled, when he realized that Malfoy had already sat up.

"Hang on a tic," Harry said, as Malfoy - ever blankfaced, turned towards him. Harry _loathed_ how the Slytherins were so good at concealing their emotions. He _hated_ it.

Harry Potter lay down, sprawled on the ground in a most undignified fashion. He'd stopped thinking, in fact, falling back on older skills. Listening, hearing, watching... and seeing.

Harry Potter had never been particularly sly, nor deceitful, nor particularly ambitious. Which left one thread out of place - why had the Sorting Hat tried to put him in Slytherin?

His eyes drifted over to Draco Malfoy, running along the boy he had to admit he didn't know nearly as well as he'd have insisted just a few months ago. For all the time he'd spent glaring over at the arrogant boy, he hadn't tried to... see.

What was the similarity?

What pulled Greg Goyle to Slytherin? Severus Snape? Tom Riddle himself?

And then it clicked, the knowledge slotting into his head just as if it had always been there - which it had. He just hadn't let himself see it. Too busy trying to be a Gryffindor, he supposed. To have friends, to be liked.

For the moment, he let those thoughts drift away from him.

Just be.

It was a quiet state, a level of meditation that might have some potential for...

Just be, he thought again, more firmly.

Just be.

And then, as everything resolved into crystallic perfection, he spoke. "I heard a rumor a while back..." He let the story lie fallow, the potential hanging like a cloud so low it was fog.

"Oh?" Malfoy responded, his face deliberately not showing the interest that he most surely had. Harry knew how Malfoy'd respond if he didn't care. _That's nice, Potter. _Malfoy'd drawl, _Turning into a gossipy old maid?_

"About Snape." Harry Potter said, "I'd like to know the truth."

"I'm sure you would," Malfoy said, balancing on an elbow, "What makes you think that I know?"

"I don't think you do,really." Harry admitted, "But you can find out."

"I can do many things, Potter," Malfoy drawled, his pace deliberately slow, almost tantalizing. "What makes you think that I'll do this for you?"

"For me?" Potter said, chuckling, "No, you'll do it for the knowledge itself, I think." Harry let his mouth slowly smile, turning into a grin.

"And if you're asking me to just hunt after lies?" Malfoy said skeptically.

"Then I'll pay a forfeit." Harry responded. "Your choice, nothing illegal or that will absolutely get me thrown out of school."

"Lotta leeway in that," Malfoy said, his eyes staring upwards, but flashing greedily, "If I asked you to plant a swamp in the middle of the Great Hall?"

"A good prank," Harry affably agreed, "I'd do it, of course."

Malfoy's answering smirk was almost all the acceptance Harry needed. But he willed himself to stay quiet, to wait until Malfoy put it into words. "Okay, what's this rumor?"

"I heard that Professor Snape had a friend who was in Gryffindor." Harry said, doing his best to sound, if not idle, at least not very invested in the whole of the question. It had been driving him up the wall for ages, but he devoutly couldn't bear if Malfoy knew that. What sort of Death Eater had that been? It boggled the mind to think of someone from Gryffindor, home of Sirius Black and James Potter, having the black bollocks to hang out with Severus Snape. It was the sort of thing that Harry needed to know. Snape was a scholar, as much as he was a Potions Master - was that what had gotten him a _Gryffindor_ friend?

Malfoy snorted, "Is your source at all credible, Potty? Because that sounds incredible."

"The best." Harry responded, and knowingly let Malfoy reach the conclusion that it was McGonagall.

"I'll ask around." Malfoy said, his knowing smirk flashing into a smug smile. "Be prepared to pay up."

Harry laced his hands behind his head, in an impression of nonchalance that he didn't feel, "Oh, I will."

Harry looked at the top of his bedcurtains, his hands fiddling with his wand for lack of something better to fiddle with. No, he'd rather have a rubick's cube or something - at least then he could pretend that he was really doing something, rather than just fidgeting for its own sake.

What Hermione had said... and more importantly, what she'd looked like, was bothering Harry. He didn't want her to be all adrift like that - particularly because it was honesty his fault.

If He hadn't have said something, Ron would have continued to sink time and effort into vainly crushing on his best friend - for the simple reason that Hermione wouldn't turn him down hard.

And now Hermione was stuck thinking that she was all alone,and everyone else had a date. Well, Harry thought, there were ways to fix that.

_Should_ he?

That was the question. And why he was fiddling here.

He heard the lightly heavy steps (so unlike Dudley's), as Longbottom came into the room. Harry lightly swung out of his own bed, "Hey Neville" When you thought about it, Neville was the perfect choice - an utter gentleman, a nice guy - and, most importantly, not someone Hermione would fall in steamy hot love with. **

"Hey Harry," Neville said, starting to take off his muddy clothes. Good thing that Hogwarts had elves, Harry's hands were itching to clean up just at the sight. And Harry _hated_ cleaning.

"You should ask Hermione to the dance." Harry said firmly.

"Why?" Neville said, glancing down at himself, before meeting Harry's eyes, "Has she said something about me?"

"well, no..." Harry said, "It's just, that she doesn't have anyone to go with..."

"Guess it wouldn't hurt to try..." Neville said, "Only... why didn't you just ask her?" Harry mentally winced, thinking that he really didn't need a crush on his best friend Right Now. No, that would just cause too many complications.

Harry smiled (he was sure it was a bit wan), and said simply, "Oh, that's plan B!"

Neville and Harry grinned at each other as they went to bed.

**Famous last Words, Harry!

*ramparts, actually. but who expects Harry to know medieval architecture?


	20. Order Fiiiight!

Harry Potter well knew that Hermione had enough books to go on a crusade.

He knew something else too, though, and that was that Ron and his ilk would tire quickly of new spells.

Yes, it was sad to say, but true.

"My turn, Hermione" Harry said quietly but firmly before class.

"But why? I have all of these lesson plans written up..."

"Snape's given us something more wide-ranging, and I think most people will fail the assignment without some _actual_ group homework." Harry gave Hermione his best pleading look.

"Alright, fine. But I'm going to demonstrate some spells at the end of class."

"I'll try to hurry," Harry said with a grin, part of him laughing at Hermione's dedication, and a different part exulting that it was Snape who had them here. He wouldn't catch them and take off points the way Umbridge would have.

As everyone filed in, Harry noticed that students still had a tendency to congregate around their own Houses. He didn't like that. He wanted to see people... well, getting an appreciation for others. It was easy enough to think of Luna as the epitome of a Ravenclaw, or Sue Bones for Hufflepuff, or, well he had to guess himself, sadly, as the epitome of Gryffindor. Which was silly, when he thought about it: wasn't the hat trying to send him to Slytherin? Harry'd have to ask someone else, he thought, maybe Hermione.

"We're going to do something different today."

"Why's that?" Zack smith said.

"Because it's Gryffindor's turn to teach, and I'm not letting you flunk Snape's course. Whatever he's calling it today." Harry Potter said, trying to keep his voice reasonable.

Malfoy snorted, somewhere behind him. Harry wasn't sure if that would help or not. Didn't particularly care either.

"So, today, we're going to form teams, and try to come up with the most creative solutions to the problem."

"I call Goyle!" Crabbe said firmly. Harry couldn't blame the bloke. Goyle was actually (reportedly) good at the subject. And Crabbe looked like the only thing he was good at was pounding nails. Hm, maybe he was good at wizarding history. He certainly didn't seem to be good at magic.

By the time Luna and Harry and Sue had finished getting the crews together, they looked motley indeed, as if the groups joined together had created Cloaks of Many Colors.

Harry took his seat, beside Nott and Zacharias and Luna. "Alright, I know Luna you weren't in class, so maybe we should let... Nott start?"

"I didn't even catch one cat," Nott said languidly, "Why would you want to start with me?"

Luna spoke up instead of Harry, "Even a loss is something to be learned from. Let's begin with losses, and then look at victories."

Nott frowned at the comment, and Harry punched in, "I'll start first, then. I failed to capture Crookshanks."

Zach laughed, "What kind of a name for a cat is that?"

"Hermione's." Harry Potter responded, all traces of good humor gone. Zach's face stilled, and he tried to make a conciliatory gesture, as he said, "Oh," which when you thought about it made him sound stupid.

Nott was looking at Harry carefully, as if he was some sort of color-changing potion, and Nott wanted to catch him in the middle of the change, when he was all green and red at once, and looked purple.

Luna giggled, slightly, and said lightly and reproachfully, "Harry! Pulling the wrackspurts into a ball in your belly isn't the way to be rid of them." As everyone turned towards Luna, she continued lightly, "Plus it leads to indigestion."

"You mean ulcers," Harry said, smiling. She was right about that, as Luna often was, if you had the patience to listen.

"What's an ulcer?" The entire group asked him, and Harry - who really didn't know - gave a little sigh, "Ask Hermione," he said, in a resigned tone of voice.

"You don't know." Nott said, his voice so low that Harry was pretty sure that Zach, on the other side of the circle they'd made, couldn't hear. Of course, Harry rather suspected that was the point.

Harry nodded back, acknowledging the point Nott had scored.

Nott seemed to sit there for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Harry felt oddly at ease - part of that was Luna being around, she had this crystal calm about her that seemed to settle everyone else down. Most silences weren't calm. In Harry's experience, they tended to be hostile. Snape had dozens, from "you are scum" to "there'd better be a good reason for this!"

Eventually, Nott spoke up, "The first problem I had was finding cats. I've never much cared for the fickle creatures, and all of them that i knew of, someone else did too." Nott paused, and then continued, "And by the time I'd organized a list of likely-to-be-caught felines, their owners or friends were already upon them." Nott sighed, nearly deflating before straightening his spine as if by habit. _I wonder if Malfoy had the same tutor? Focus, Harry. _"So, there i was without any way to find a cat." Nott smirked, looking a little smug, "So I set out to get them to find _me_." Luna smiled at that, her expression caught midway between dreamy and incisive. "Turns out cats don't actually like caviar." Nott said, "I laid about five caviar-laden traps." Zach was looking at Nott in unabashed horror. "Noise traps, Smith, not kill-traps."

Smith smiled back awkwardly, saying "You're alright Nott," Harry wasn't particularly sure that Smith believed what he just said.

"Where'd you put the traps?" Harry asked, wondering if he'd get a bit more detail on the quiet Slytherin.

"Mostly in the dungeons. Whereever I'd seen a cat, really." Nott responded.

"That'll do it," Harry said, to Nott's frown - not quite a question, but definite incomprehension. "Cats hate the damp and cold - it's why they seek out sunbeams. When they're down there, it's to hunt."

"So why didn't the food work?" Nott responded.

"Because they're down there to hunt, not to feed. Cats don't often hunt because they're hungry." Harry said.

Luna nodded saying, "all cats play with their food. I thought everyone knew that."

Narcissa Malfoy sat at her dressing room's desk, idly playing with a quill. Her son had sent her a short note, about a question that her cousin's cousin on her maternal side had raised. That wasn't meant to be subtle - it was merely a declaration that this was Family Business, and as such was at least partially shielded from Honor and Duty. In short, by writing this way, her son was asking her to refrain from notifying her husband, or his Dark Lord.

That was easy enough. Nobody read Narcissa Malfoy's mail, as it was full of fripperies sent back and forth between High Society Ladies. They wrote in code half the time anyway, and the crucial length of a hem might actually resolve to whether to poison one's lover before one's husband discovered him. Kinder to kill him than allow him to be tortured (at least that was the Nice Theory. The alternate theory was He's Mine To Kill, Not Yours).

But.

This was a question that more resembled a can of worms. An _open_ can of worms. Severus Snape was a notoriously private man, and to talk about things that he had left well buried (in this case literally) in the past? That would cause trouble. Even if they weren't in the middle of a politicking war, it would cause trouble. Snape wasn't the type to take someone spilling his secrets lightly.

Still.

Narcissa badly wanted to know who _dared._

Snape moved with feline grace, and was as sadistic as a cat as well. Narcissa knew that someone would pay for spilling a secret. Severus Snape buried his deep, and she wasn't deluded enough to think she knew half of his - and she knew him _well_.

There was another angle to this as well, and why Narcissa was determined to write back to her son. This was not the sort of question you asked a causal acquaintance. She had thought Potter was not on speaking terms with her son. It would be to her son's advantage to cultivate that... just in case. There were many things that could go wrong with this politickin' war, and Narcissa Malfoy was determined to see her son survive.

In the end, she wrote two notes: One to her son, telling him to pass this note to Harry Potter, and not to open it. He would follow her instruction, even as it drove him crazy. She also asked her son to figure out who had started the rumor.

To Harry Potter? She simply write, "Severus did have a friend in Gryffindor; her name was Lily." Even as she wrote it, she elided off the last name, a habit of concealment that was hard to break, even when it did no good.

Harry spoke up then, saying, "I've known cats all my life. Predicting them wasn't my problem." Harry took a breath, trying not to feel stupid and get angry. "I failed to predict people. My friends even."

Everyone was looking at him, and he tried not to feel like he had two heads. These were perfectly easy mistakes to make, he tried to reassure himself. They were also perfectly stupid, and that was why the reassurance didn't work at all.

"I thought about the cats I knew best, because I'd have the easiest time catching them." Harry said, and Nott looked vaguely approving. "However, they aren't my cats. Hermione's cat was a lot easier for her to catch than it was for me - and I had to get into the girls' dorm to boot!"

"Harry got in the girls dorm! To catch a pussy!" Zach said, his booming laugh not quite covering what he'd said. Other people were looking at him curiously, and he was suddenly glad that at least the Slytherins understood the wordplay. They were prickly enough without thinking that he was a damn creep!

"I wasn't actually inside, just flying outside the window." Harry said promptly.

"You can do that?" Padma wailed, "I'm going to need better curtains!"

Everyone laughed at that, but Harry could see considering looks on the faces of odd people. Malfoy, for one. "It appears there is a disadvantage to living in the Lion's Tower." he drawled, and Goyle cracked up - nevermind that Goyle wasn't anywhere near Malfoy at the time.

After everything had calmed down, Zach said, "I wound up trying to catch three toads."

"How'd that happen?" Harry asked, intrigued - and glad to see that there was something that could crack Zach's immense ego.

"They were rustling, and they sounded kind of like a cat, and you all know how cats like creeping into dark dens."

"Boxes, they like boxes," Harry said absentmindedly.

"So there I was, with my hands in that dark den..." Zach said, smiling cheerfully, and Harry reflected on how he had big beefy hands. "And a cat comes around the corner, clearly intent on stalking... whatever was in the den!"

"You caught it?" Nott said lazily, Harry belatedly understanding that Nott wanted to hurry the conversation along, and that he was a bit sick of the pointless embroidery. Harry hadn't minded. Perhaps Nott didn't like the study work they were doing today - well and good, he'd love Hermione's plans.

"Yeah, and didn't it howl, hideously irate at getting the muck I still had on my arm all over itself!" Zach said, smiling cheerily. Beside him, Nott rolled his eyes, and Harry found himself thinking that Nott's interruption hadn't saved a single word.

By the time the meeting had ended, Harry and the rest had a decent background for writing the essay. Plus, they'd all gotten to hear about Goyle cornering and then stunning the Transfiguration Professor! Truly, that had taken the cleverness that Slytherin was famed for.

Harry was quite tired (having been up early to run), and wanted to huff back to Gryffindor's dorms and collapse into sleep. Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone'd got the Yule idea together.

Specifically, the girls in DA, who wanted to gather around Harry and ply him with their charms. Harry wanted to burst out with "I don't like aggressive women!" - but he had liked Hermione, and she was the epitome of a ballsy bitch. So he couldn't actually say that. Besides, she'd have given him grief ofver it regardless.

Harry didn't especially fancy telling the girls no, either. That generally meant tears, and Harry did Not Like girls in Tears.

So, he tried his timehoned skill of avoidance. All in all, it might have worked better if it wasn't the Room of Requirement. Real hard to hide in a leopardskin patterned bedsheet. Real tough to tell someone that you really weren't interested, and could she please get Off The Bed so Harry could turn down the next one. Parvati and Padma had tried to go for a threesome, and Harry didn't want to even contemplate how that would work without being in the safety of his own bed.

Hannah and Sue were really, really nice about the whole thing, which was in some ways worse. Because how was he supposed to let them down when they looked like they'd nearly given up before even asking him? His heart went out to them, but not in the "Let's Date" sort of way.

In the end, he hadn't managed to turn down a single girl.

Which meant tomorrow was going to be worse.

Harry Potter hadn't considered what the next day was going to be like. He hadnt' thought about it at all, just gotten up to his bed and collapsed. He woke early in the morning, and was out the door before most of Gryffindor had woken up. He was glad, if it was a rather belated observation, to realize that his lack of sleep (and subsequent meanderings) would be much better tolerated if he did it during daylight. When there was no especial reason not to comply, he would do as suggested.

Snape was his usual crotchety self, sending Harry scampering along treelimbs and between treetrunks. Harry just knew he had twigs in his hair. (_Better not let Malfoy see - he'd never let me live it down_) His quick feet having left Snape finally behind (at least he hoped, as he hadn't heard or felt any curses at his back in the past quarter mile or so).

Romilda Vane was in his path, wearing what might pass for "running clothes" in the notoriously stodgidy Wizarding World. Namely, bloomers that went down to her ankles. "Hiya Harry! Mind if I join you?"

Which, to the point, Harry did. It would be rude to outpace her, and... "If you can keep up..." Harry said, grinning.

Romilda jogged beside his easy pace, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he sped up. "Harry, what's your favorite class?"

"Easy! DADA. What's it like with Tonks?" Harry responded, speeding up again.

"I'm not with Tonks, I'm just a year behind you!" Romilda said, and Harry, wanting to avoid the awkwardness, poured on the speed.

Romilda was left in the dust, and Harry - aching and tired - limped his way up to Gryffindor Tower for a wellneeded shower.

Severus Snape was at the High Table early, as usual. He rarely slept late, and with the early morning training regimen, that had become even more unlikely. He drank a cup of black coffee, and then another, in an early morning ritual that nicely disguised his perfect wakefulness. The school thought of him as a grump at the best of times (was that Dungeon Bat at the worst? Maybe Vampire? He'd quite lost track of the myriad nicknames)... Still, he appreciated time to plan responses to tricky situations, and having them dropped on him at daybreak was hardly conducive to that.

Severus Snape scowled into his bowl of oats (not quite porridge, Dutch Oatmeal was a fine rejoinder to Minerva's constant claim that Scotch was the best alcohol in existence). This would indeed be a Yule ball to remember. Last one had featured Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour, both fine figures that knew how to deal with fame, fortune, and the attentions of others.

This one would be markedly different. It would feature Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, neither of which seemed to have realized the essential practicality of finding someone, anyone, to romance - before the hordes tried to hunt them down. Snape was vaguely comforted by the knowledge that Granger was by Potter's side - there did need to be someone to notice if he'd been giving a Love Potion - or ten, at which point the effects would be entirely muddled, but still affecting him. Merlin save them all if Severus Snape had to save Harry Potter from a wayward lass.

Neither of the two boys were prepared for this, and so Severus Snape anticipated a unique treat.

Schadenfreude.

After all, he'd never in seven years of Hogwarts been hunted by uncountable women. Of course, it was a standard adolescent fantasy, so some boys would be finding their world rocked at the seams.

And this is why Severus Snape spent the morning meal scowling into his breakfast cereal. Light forfend anyone see the dark Potions Master of Hogwarts laughing in genuine amusement.

Harry Potter stumbled into the Great Hall, his glasses still a little fogged from the shower he'd just taken.* He tried to find his normal seat, only to realize that Ron wasn't awake yet. Instead, he sat beside Hermione, who nodded at him, lost in her books.

It all started with Colin Creevey. He was asking Ginny Weasley out (no matter that she already had a boyfriend). With floating flower wreathes, and a musical serenade, and a "heartfelt" poem. It was both ostentatious and awful. Harry, had he been asked, would have told Colin to do it anyplace but the Great Hall.

Ginny stood up and said, "No, I will not attend the Yule with you." All the soap opera needed was for Colin Creevey to leave the room in a mass of tears. Luckily the world wasn't that mad.

But that wasn't the bad part - it only opened the floodgates.

Every Gryffindor girl - and there were a bunch, decided to crowd down the table towards Harry. Even Ginny, who was mostly alright. (Except Hermione, who both wouldn't, and was sitting beside him anyway). "Harry!" asked one 4th year girl, and, a bit wary, Harry looked up, his face rapidly acquiring the look of the hunted. "Will you go to Yule with me?" Harry abruptly realized that that was what all the girls were here for. It wasn't 4th year, he didn't need to take anyone, he wanted to shout. But, as this was the Great Hall, he also didn't want to disrupt everyone's breakfast. Instead, he buried his face in treacle tart,

Carefully looking not left nor right he lifted his eyes off the next bite of trifle.

Shite, the Hufflepuffs! Sue and Hannah at the forefront, but everyone above 2nd year (thank god fo rthat!) was trumping up towards him.

Another 4thyear Gryff said to the first, "I d on't believe you asked him! Just like that?"

"What, was I supposed to have waited? and what if he accepted with someone else in the meantime?" The first responded. Was her name Amaryllis?

Harry slowly turned his head, noting that everywhere in front of him was effectively blocked by girls.

Suddenly, from behind his head, Harry heard a very familiar voice. A snide voice. "Hasn't anyone ever told you girls that romance is better done in the evening? All this fuss over Mister Potter," Snape sneered, "I may lose my breakfast. Potter, don't you have my class to prepare for?" Harry, taking the hint, scrambled to his feet.

"Shite!" Harry said, trying to look panicked. And then, working harder on it, he was actually panicking about not looking panicked. Short of a pensieve, he figured that would have to do.

"That will be one detention for language, Mister Potter, and another for ruining my breakfast." Snape said snidely.

Harry wheeled about, his nose nearly buried in Snape's chest (but Snape, of course, would not back up.) "But I didn't do anything!"

Snape's voice sounded as dry as a dessicant, "No, these girls have no reason to believe you might fancy them, none at all. You haven't sent longing glances towards them, or smiled rogueishly at them, or flirted with them." Snape's tone showed patent and obvious disbelief through sarcasm. But, damn it all, Snape was helping. Both because people loved to hate Snape, and because Snape was making true points. "Add on another two detentions, one for cheek and one for sheer stupidity."

Harry Potter brushed past Snape - making his robes swish with the light contact. He stormed out of the Great Hall, and headed upstairs to get his Potions homework. His _completed_ potions homework.

_Inside the walls and over the doors,_

_Beside the windows and beneath the floors,_

_Hark ye fools, the dragon snores._

Moving from one part of the school to another was proving more difficult than Harry had ever found it before. Any girl, it seemed, would immediately head his way. And while he could have just ran by them (and got a detention from that Hufflepuff prefect while he was at it), Harry elected to go the easier route.

Namely, through the walls.

There were just tons of secret passages - Hermione'd had the idea that they were to save magical people from Muggles before the Muggle-repelling charms were laid. Luna thought they were just for secret lovers.

Harry just knew they were dusty. Smothering a sneeze (someone would look over, and he'd have to hide _again_), he whispered the password to the Fat Lady, who was really just plump, and she fussed at him, "_Where_ have you been up to?"

"Breakfast. And a dandy little jaunt through some unused corridors." Well, they were unused because they were hidden and rather hard to find, but details details. Obligingly, the Fat Lady opened up, and Harry raced through the Common Room. He idly wondered if he looked a little like a dust devil. There was his homework - nearly finished! Harry scrawled the last conclusion on the page, and then wrote his name.

Down we go again! Harry thought, sliding through old classrooms (the ones with two doors), and otherwise being just swift and shifty enough to avoid everyone looking for him.

He was about three corridors away from Potions when he went stock still (luckily, behind a statue). This had to be the first time, since, well before he'd met Snape, that he was looking forward to Potions Class. Nobody would dare talk to him about anything not class related. Not with Snape teaching. Harry hastily smothered a grin. It would not do to show up grinning to Snape's class. He'd get sent to the Nurse with suspicion of fever. And then everyone in the school would descend, with enough candy to completely fill the entire ward!

Harry slid into class moments before it was time. Strangely, Snape was already at the front of the class, and looking at Harry Potter like one might look at a particularly manged mog. "Potter," Snape said, "Why did you possibly think it was appropriate to attend Potions Class dressed as a dust devil?"

Harry, abashed, looked down, seeing how his normally black uniform was coated in dust. "Um... sir..." He said, shifting from foot to foot.

"Worse," Snape said, and Harry's heart sunk, "You neglected the charms that would keep your ... garb to yourself. You've spread dust from floor to ceiling, and over my entire classroom. "

"Malfoy," Snape said in that false laziness, "Clean this place up." Malfoy smirked, managing to look as superior as Harry'd ever seen him. In that moment, Harry wanted to pound Malfoy's face into the ground, simply for that look of "you're dumber than dirt."

"Potter, as you obviously do not know how to dress yourself in a fashion appropriate for this class, you may remand yourself to your dormitory for a shower. That will be one detention, during which you may prove your understanding of the potion currently on the board. You will do so without wasting my time. So take your own notes and come prepared."

"But sir, my homework..."

Snape gave him a withering look, "Can also be collected during the detention. With suitably higher standards, of course."

At that point, Harry left the class hurriedly.

Somewhat surprisingly, the entire castle was clear of people - undoubtedly attending classes.

A moment to breathe. A moment of peace.

Harry had had quite enough of everyone, thank you kindly. He wasn't sulking - it was hard to do that on top of the Astronomy tower, the wind would knock all the melancholy straight out of you. Well, at least it worked that way for Harry Potter - he somehow had a feeling that Snape, in a melancholic mood, might actually prefer the teeth of the wind. Seemed the type, anyway.

Harry had nabbed dinner from the kitchen, as well as lunch. He hadn't wanted to show up to the Great Hall, not after breakfast. In fact, he thought ruefully, I might just not show up at all, until after the ball. If then.

It wasn't like the teachers were likely to stop him, after all. Who'd bother? McGonagall cared, but she cared in a way that let a first year play Quiddich - rough and tumble was the way lions were _made_. Dumbledore had a thousand students to keep track of, so it wasn't like... well, anything personal.

Up here, on top of the castle, Harry started trying to spell two different things at once.

Nox and Lumos created some sort of living grey fog, that wrapped around him until he used a horribly bright Lumos to burn it away.

He tried a few combinations of simple charms - like the one Hermione used to fix his glasses; he'd finally managed to learn it this term, which he was rather proud of, and a simple Episkey. That wound up with flattened glasses (frames still unbroken, or rather broken and reformed flat and unbendy. He certainly couldn't fit them around his ears that way).

Trying to cast a stunner and a shield made the stunner appear, seconds after the shield, _inside_ the shield, and Harry dove to the ground avoiding it.

It was at that point that he realized that maybe he really shouldn't be doing this alone, in the middle of nowhere, where the next person likely to stumble onto him would be there in hours - and be there to snog their boyfriend.

It was Saturday, brilliantly blue skies in crisp autumn air. Harry loved this time of year.

Harry's morning run had been oddly quiet, to the point where he'd been jumping at squirrels and other minor nuisances. Snape hadn't made an appearance, and that almost troubled Harry, before he resolved to give the man at least a day before he started _worrying_. For all Harry Potter knew, Snape was out gathering Christmas Presents - the thought almost made Harry chuckle, though he quelched the impulse, knowing that if he did start laughing, of course that'd be the point where Snape would show up.

Harry thought he'd have time to slip through the Hogwarts Entrance Hall, and head upstairs to get a shower.

Unfortunately, Real Life had other ideas. Draco Malfoy was in the Entrance Hall, holding court with dozens of girls - each of which he was making smile and blush prettily. _There's one that won't have any trouble getting Someone for the ball._ Harry thought, jealous at the effortlessness with which Malfoy was handling all the girls. From the looks of it, Malfoy hadn't even told one "no" yet! Harry wished he was that good around girls. Or even as smooth as Seamus, who always seemed to develop someone to snog during any Gryffindor party.

After his early morning shower, Harry headed straight for the Room on the 7th Floor.

He didn't have the same expectations as the last Order Meeting. Today, though, it truly didn't matter. All he wanted was some peace and quiet; which was why he was early.

Not that that seemed to have helped.

Snape and Moody were squaring off (the table had reshaped itself into a cloverleaf, and they were standing opposite, their wands nearly at each other's throats.

Harry hadn't quite gotten the start of the argument, but by this point, Moody was yelling, "I demand an explanation!"

Snape was sneering back, his temper nearly visibly writhing under his skin. Harry found himself wondering if that meant Snape was just fakin'. If so, it was a rather impressive display of oil heated nearly to flashpoint. "I don't owe you anything, Alastor," Snape's voice cut through the light crowd.

"There was a death eater meeting last evening," Alastor Moody said, "Where were you?"

"Do you want the truth or the alibi?" Snape said with a pronounced sneer, picking his words as if he was picking his teeth. Somewhere in the last few seconds, Snape'd reined in his temper.

"How about both?" Moody snarled.

"There was a Death Eater meeting, which I was seen to attend. There was also a rather notable discussion of the properties of the Feral Mugwort in Wizarding London. I was also present." Snape said, leaving Harry with the odd question of _which was the alibi?_

"And your results?" Moody asked.

"Will be told at the meeting, and not before." Snape said, standing at full height suddenly and looking down his nose at Moody.

At that moment, Tonks walked in, stumbling over Harry's feet (and he'd sworn they were under the table like good dogs**).

Remus followed after Tonks, taking up a position midway between Snape and Moody - in the corner of the room. His eyes tracked back and forth as if he was really listening to the fight, resembling a dog's eyes watching a tennis match. "Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!" Harry'd seen it often at the park. Not the sort of thing to mention to Lupin, of course, he was sensitive enough about his canid nature...

In thinking about all this, Harry had quite missed the arrival of the twins. So, instead, he saw the middle of the table turn black as pitch. When the dust dissipated, Snape and Moody were still arguing - but they'd now been switched. Snape had on a slightly peeved look to his face, but Moody - Moody had turned about, and started flinging spells all over the place.

Harry dove to protect Molly Weasley, who'd been talking with Vance and thus hadn't seen the spells heading straight for her neck. That looked like a severing spell too...

"Constant Vigilance!" Moody proclaimed, having sent enough spells in all directions that even Snape had ducked for cover. _Don't waste energy blocking spells if you can dodge. __It spoils your concentration too._

Harry Potter quietly surveyed the room, finding nearly everyone unharmed. Tonks was bleeding, her leg cut in a strangely zagged pattern, but she was busy fixing it herself, even if only temporarily. Harry recognized the field medic spell - it would keep her from bleeding out, but wasn't actually designed to suture anything. Quick and dirty patching, but it was functional. Harry Potter liked it, and reminded himself that he should really be teaching spells like this at DA. Not that a healing spell couldn't be turned around and used to wound (Plenty of immobilizing spells could kill, all you had to do was immobilize the chest cavity), but by and large, they'd save more lives than they crushed.

Albus Dumbledore walked in, looking jolly as usual, "Gentlemen! Let's have a seat. This meeting won't start without you."

Snape gave Moody a glare that seemed to say, "I wish it would start without _you_."

Harry couldn't even dig up the energy to be mad at Moody for questioning Snape so hard - he'd have been like that himself, just a year ago.

The meeting started with meaningless gossip and speculation. There were rumors that someone had been subverted in St. Mungo's. Except that no one could actually point to someone in particular. Ditto with ten other places, including Ottery St. Catchpole, which was weird, as Harry was certain that Molly would have noticed a Single Thing Wrong. Then Harry thought back to the summer, and realized that Molly hadn't noticed anything different about, well, much of anything. And Severus Snape, that grinch and grump, had been helping - and Harry was quite certain that no one else had realized it.

And didn't that just say something about this meeting, in general? After all, if they couldn't recognize what Snape was doing, repeatedly and often, in Orders Headquarters - how did they expect to catch Slytherins doing anything, well, anywhere? Slytherins had a reputation for being sneaky - but that wasn't sneaky, that was just subtle! No wonder people kept warning him to steer clear of Slytherins, if most people just sailed on oblivious while Slytherins pulled strings all around them. They'd look up one day, and see themselves ensnared, and curse the man who did it.

Hermione was taking great gobs of notes, because of course she was. And Ron and Gin and Neville were looking so earnestly happy to be there. The twins... oh. Now that was interesting. They seemed to be plotting something with Luna, of all people. That bodes well for my bank account, Harry thought wryly, if not for the Order Meeting.

Luna Lovegood eventually stood up to give a report, though Harry couldn't have honestly said if it was performance art or not. She spoke of the state of the nargles in the castle, and how they seemed to be infesting particular girls, and giving them a hard time. Harry Potter took detailed notes about this (mentally, of course, Dudley had always stolen his notes, and so he'd developed the habit of memorization for anything truly important), as those girls might decide to send him something potiony.

**Students of history will recall that dogs is a slang for feet. Aunt Petunia liked her historical dramas, and I rather think she'd like the Great Gatsby. While not understanding it, of course.

*Dank, musty old castle. No air conditioning, just outside air seeping in.


	21. Temper, Temper

At the Slytherin Table, Draco Malfoy had just received a most irritating letter. His mother had responded, but she'd actually told him that her response was for Potter's Eyes Only. That was a figleaf, as well Draco knew - any Slytherin could tell a lot by what someone looked like as they read an important letter. But it also bespoke other things - her intent to cultivate a cordial relationship with Harry Potter, perhaps. And perhaps a desire to tweak her son's nose about asking such an impertinent question. Receiving a response at all meant that she at least peripherally approved of what he was doing (though how she could disapprove, Malfoy didn't contemplate).

Still, Draco Malfoy watched the Gryffindor Table with a studied wariness. It was nearly the end of breakfast, and he hadn't seen Potter. Or Granger. This was, as they might say, not altogether unexpected. What was unexpected was not seeing Ron Weasley. In fact, Draco Malfoy hadn't seen Dumbledore up at the head table either (Snape was missing, but was probably brewing - and Trelawney never showed up to breakfast*).

Draco Malfoy thought it was more than passing strange that Ron Weasley hadn't shown up for breakfast. If he knew of some way to find them... where did they usually hang out?

Was it quiddich trials? Draco Malfoy was moving as breakfast ended, his restlessness passing into his feet as he strode calmly but quickly through Hogwarts halls. Not at the Quiddich pitch. Not in the library. Eventually, even not in the kitchen (draco snagged a cornish pastie). Draco found himself at the 7th floor, at the Room - and found it closed.

_Bingo. _Draco draped himself on the wall nearby, looking like he was lounging and not intensely surveiling a location. With a frown, he realized that he didn't look nearly so elegant in this skin. Oh, well, difficult times call for difficult measures.

After what seemed like hours (and probably was, Molly had an eternal fountain of gossip and seemed to think that everyone wanted to hear it, and Luna had enough invisible creatures that her entire invisible menagerie necessitated a detailed report on each and every single one.), Severus Snape stood to speak.

"The Dark Lord moves, but quietly, slowly. You may think of him as greedy and grasping, but here his moves are subtle. They are no less sure, but I cannot tell you what I have not yet learned."

"Are you sayin' he dinna trust you anymore?" Professor McGonagall asked, and Harry was glad, because that was a question that was far better coming from someone sympathetic. Slytherins knew how to twist words, but Moody could have put that in his usual paranoid light, and that would have shed much more heat than light.

"No. I am aware of what moves he makes against Hogwarts, as I must be to not compromise his dealings or my cover." Snape sneered at this, "But I do not spend much time in the Ministry, and his moves there are on a restricted basis."

"Do you think your friends might tell you about what they know?" Vance put this to Snape, She had seemed neutral in the War of The Snape, but Harry was beginning to wonder.

"Of course they might," Snape said, "Given the proper motivation."

"And what would that be? What would you sell for information?" Shacklebolt put out, and everyone could hear the hostility.

"My ears, and my respect will be enough, in this case. My self-respect is long gone, of course." Snape added the second line in a doleful manner that had Prof. McGonagall stifling a shocked laugh.

Dumbledore spoke, "That sounds like a price easy enough to pay. Can you make it so?"

"I can," Snape said, his brief moment of black levity gone as if it had never been. "But it will take time. I will start preparations immediately. My allies will need to savor the soup before I can dine."**

"Alright, you soddin' bastard, Time for you to skulk back to your hole." Moody snapped.

"Language!" Hermione and Molly said at the same time, and then blinked owlishly at each other.

"Not quite," Snape said, looking smug as usual, "I do have news that you will find essential."

"And why haven't you mentioned it before now?" Moody asked, sounding every bit the cranky old man.

"Because you didn't ask." Snape said, looking smug. He addressed his next comment to Albus, "Turning to matters under your nose..."

Albus did his best to look genial and not affronted. It nearly worked, even. Snape had a way of getting under most people's skins, though it didn't bode well that he was needling Dumbledore of all people.

In a voice dry as the Antarctic driving wind that peels skin off faces, Snape said, "I am delighted to announce that Harry Potter is cleared for battle."

_Wait, what?! _Harry thought, flummoxed but very, very rapidly turning into a towering thunderstorm. _He'd done all that work, and still wouldn't have been able to fight? What was the fucking point of training if he couldn't FIGHT?!_

A few people murmurred cautious congratulations to Harry - but they weren't his friends, who took one look at his gradually purpling face, and decided to wait a good while before saying a word. One didn't kick the nitroglycerine, after all.

"Importantly," Snape said, his voice firm and smooth, "This does not clear Potter for learning or helping with plans. I merely warrant that he'll not betray us through sheer negligence in battle itself."

Harry felt as if he'd been slapped. He hadn't forgotten, but... it had been easy enough to push aside - the thought that Voldemort could learn anything he knew, at any time. He wasn't sure if he should feel cheered that he could block him in battle or not. After all, there was always Everytime Else in the World.

Remus spoke, his tone mild, concealing the underlying hostility. Harry wasn't sure if Remus blamed Snape for Sirius' death, but they'd never gotten along in the first place. "Have you resumed teaching Harry Occulumency? I thought that subject was closed."

"It remains so." Snape said, "However, Potter doesn't need to feign ignorance in battle. He merely needs to exist, in the moment, firmly and puissantly enough that he cannot be moved."

Harry blinked. He hadn't realized - when had _Snape_ realized? Had Snape been doing wordless, wandless Legimency? Was that even possible?

Dumbledore spoke up, before Harry (or, more likely, one of the other Order Members) could question how Snape knew about this, "That will be enough, Severus. You may leave now."

Harry, who had started (mostly) to quench his anger (okay, really to bank it for later), felt the river of rage jump its banks. It spilled around his mind, wreathed his heart in bloodlust. His hands shaking, Harry gripped his chair with enough force that he might break it. This wasn't just unjust, it was actively stupid. It needed to be stopped. Directly after this meeting, He'd see Dumbledore and make him see sense.

Severus Snape, face impassive as usual, strode out into the 7th floor hallway. He was surprised, though he obviously didn't show it, to see Draco Malfoy lounging nearby.

"Were you looking for Gryffindors to harrass, Draco?" Snape's question might have sounded polite, if it had come out of anyone else's mouth. Out of Snape's, it was the arch of a cobra's neck, in the moment before he struck. Snape paired that with his own quick and unhurried movement. It was a subtle form of intimidation, and Snape was an expert.

Draco Malfoy swallowed, seeming a bit surprised to see Snape. He stood as Snape drew near, and said, "Obviously. Dumbledore gives his Golden Children too much free reign."

Snape smirked, and said firmly, "Standing outside a Staff Meeting is a waste of time. You'd have a better chance of finding them on the Quiddich Pitch." Snape's eyes had flicked, for just a moment, to the windows - which were blessedly clear of the red and gold Quiddich colors.

Draco Malfoy looked at Snape a moment, and then sighed. "Figures I'd be hunting snipes up here..." He turned to leave, probably to head down to the Quiddich pitch.

"Draco, walk with me," Snape said, taking a bit of fresh delight in Draco Malfoy's suspicious look at him, "We have matters to discuss."

Down they went, eight floors down, discussing harmless matters like what colors Narcissa Malfoy was likely to choose to decorate her next Yule Ball. Both Malfoy and Snape knew that they didn't care, but the appearance of gentile discussion was important. Otherwise, it would look as if Draco was in trouble, and - so far as he was to know - he wasn't.

Snape finally got Malfoy behind closed doors, and smirked, "Excellent job stalking, but the follow through needs work."

Draco Malfoy smirked back, as he hadn't above, and said, "Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to serve." His eyes flicked down for a second to the double-headed eagle badge he was wearing.

"More importantly, how is your assignment going?" Snape said, leaning slightly forward in his eagerness to hear.

"Both better and worse than you'd expect," Draco Malfoy drawled. "I've got the Ravenclaws - the ones patrolling - eating out of my hand."

"That's expected," Snape said, his eyes glittering the approval that the rest of his face doesn't say.

"It's much tougher going with the rest of the school, though. They don't seem to want to make _any_ decision before they're forced." Draco Malfoy said.

"That is most unfortunate." Snape said, lacing his fingers together, "Unfortunate for them, that is."

"How so?" Draco Malfoy asked, feeling smaller than he usually did talking with his godfather.

"If they must be forced, the Dark Lord will _make_ them choose." Snape said, letting out a low, dark chuckle of wry amusement.

Draco Malfoy plastered a smirk on his face, the facial muscles moving more out of habit than honesty. _That could be really, really __bad__. _Draco Malfoy thought, trying - and failing - to weave together any threads he had to form a better plan. If only he could make them choose _without_...

Every minute since Snape had left seemed to go on longer than the last.

Harry Potter was seething, with every kernel and nugget of information that spilled from people's lips. How could they just chase Snape out of here? He was sharp - and mean and nasty, but those weren't the important things. His questions would be incisive and insightful - just like a vampire's eyeteeth.

Harry hadn't really been paying attention to anything (Hermione had been taking notes, but even she was flagging). Oh, did they have to hear about the next magical hospital...?

"Tom Riddle grew up in the Muggle world, didn't he?" Harry found himself saying, as everyone turned to him, the adults seeming especially surprised, "Why are we only checking out wizarding hospitals?"

Hermione sat up straight, "That's right! The prophecy only states that he was born to those who had thrice defied him!"

"Shouldn't we then only look around Muggle London?" Vance said, her voice perfect crystal.

"Muggles move a lot," said Remus Lupin, who ought to know.

Harry had settled back into his seat, still seething with rage. He knew that Hermione and Ron thought that his periodic displays of anger were something tied to Tom Riddle. Harry just called it Poor Impulse Control. He was often a lot angrier than people thought, after all. He'd gotten good at hiding it when he was with the Dursleys', and it had become a bit of a habit. Problem was... that habit tended to lead to explosions.

Ron had Anger Issues - but he'd blow up, and then everything would go back to normal. Everyone just accepted it.

Harry didn't stop being angry after he'd blown up. He just had to Reparo whatever he'd broken.

And Harry was getting more angry the longer this endless meeting took.

Harry flung himself out of the Room the instant the meeting was over, letting his feet nearly float him down the stairs. He felt like he practically glowed incandescent with rage, and was very, very glad no student decided to mess with him. Hopefully they knew better, but it was probably his speed. Even HeadInClouds Ravenclaws knew how to _get out of the way_ of a plummeting student.

Harry Potter stood in front of Snape's office door, pounding it loud enough to wake the dead. In fact, the Bloody Baron was drifting over. Malfoy came around the corner, smirked, and then retreated - for the space of one foot. Just far enough to be concealed.

"What is it now?" Snape drawled. "Potter! Finally decided to show up for your detention. You're what, five hours late?"

Harry's jaw had dropped open, and he hastily shut it, saying - trying for meek, "But, sir!" Harry was pretty sure he'd failed. He was a shite liar, and always had been.

"Meeting's over?" Snape snarled.

Harry Potter sent a fiery glare at the manhandling, "Yes, sir."

"Malfoy's still outside?" Snape snapped, looming over Harry. Harry's widening eyes told him all he needed to know.

"Fine." Snape growled. He pulled up a pure black tapestry - on the dimly lit wall, it had just looked like another bit of wall. "Come along, if you must. Don't tarry."

Harry Potter had to trot to keep up, but he focused on being as quiet as possible. He wanted to scream and shout, not throw a temper tantrum. Well, not a two year old's temper tantrum.

"Albus," Snape drawled, as he emerged into the Headmaster's office, "It would appear that Mister Potter has decided to grace us with his illustrious presence." Sarcasm spilled off Snape in waves.

"Oh, how nice!" Albus Dumbledore said, completely dismissing the sarcasm. Harry wished he could do the same.

"Why isn't Snape allowed to attend the entire meeting!" Harry said, his teeth grit together with the effort of sounding remotely like a human being and not like some sort of snarling dragon.

"A Gryffindor in my corner. How unexpected," Snape drawled, his voice dry as autumn leaves.

"I'm serious! He's better at finding flaws in plans than the lot of them together!" Harry crossed his arms, and said, "He can have my place, if it comes to it!"

"While your concern is touching," Snape said, sounding not the least bit gratifying, and quite a bit more like he thought that Harry had gone round the twist. "I have come here today to review the Headmaster's memory of the meeting."

Harry stopped. Not quite frozen, more like a toy with its strings cut. He slumped into an overstuffed easy chair, "Oh."

"We're not _that_ stupid, Potter," Snape said, in a soft and silky tone.

"While you are certainly welcome to stay if you wish," Albus Dumbledore said, "I think you'll find it quite boring."

Harry Potter sat there for a good while, anyhow. Staring off at nothing, and wondering how he'd managed to get this way.

Harry Potter hadn't really spent much time in the Headmaster's office. It had just felt like he had.

He felt really, really stupid. Of course there was something deeper than just the surface meaning, and of course he'd missed it. Harry was always missing things - Hadn't he thought it was Snape who was after the Stone his first year?

Harry, when he propelled himself out of the room, left like a bullet. He was pretty sure the chair fell over too.

He didn't care.

He was upset, at himself, at Slytherins and their bloody secrets, and at being upset with people who were doing Bloody Important Business, and thus he couldn't go yell at right now.

It reminded him of being at his Uncle's house. But then he'd never gotten to yell at them, not ever. Here, he just had to wait. Harry bloody hated waiting, and by the time he was out and halfway up to the Owlry, he remembered why he shouldn't be around people right now.

Granted, that was because a horde of Hufflepuffs was attempting to bat their eyelashes at him. Uggh.

Harry plummeted his way down a spare staircase (glad that it was only missing three steps - he couldn't have jumped over four). He was rightly angry, and that wasn't a state he wanted to meet people in.

Harry wound up outside nearly before he'd known what he was doing. He'd grabbed a broom, and was up and off it, running across the pitch, before he'd really settled in. He wasn't in the mood for flying. Flying gave him time to think, and in this mood, he'd just stew over everything.

He was halfway out to the Forbidden Forest before he realized what he was doing, either. The burn in his lungs felt pleasant, even. He'd taken up a stick, near Hagrid's Hut - who'd come out to wave, and Harry saluted him, even as he ducked into the forest. _At least Hagrid isn't going to tell anyone else. He's convinced the entire population of the forest is PygmyPuffs!_ Harry began to beat trees, slashing at them with the stick, trying to imagine it being a sword.

He'd gone in far enough that Hagrid couldn't see him, at least, and wasn't deranged enough to go farther, so he just kept on bashing things until he slumped to the ground, drained of any emotion whatsoever.

And to think, he'd wanted to ask that rotten bastard if anything was _wrong with him!_

Harry concluded, wryly, that it was bleedin' obvious there was a lot wrong with the Head of Slytherin House.

_When had it gotten so dark?_ It was actually just dusk, but considering Harry Potter had left the building at before noon, he was rather surprised at the state of time. And also surprised he hadn't gotten splinters from thrashing about so much. Or blisters - he'd always gotten blisters at the Dursley's before, when he'd been given a shovel and told to plant the roses. _Again_. Aunt Petunia had a talent for adding _so much_ fertilizer that they wouldn't _bloom_, and then of course, despite the fact that the plants were _perfectly healthy_ (perhaps a bit too much so), she had to have new ones. _Now_.

So, Harry Potter was walking back inside, stomach growling. Oddly enough, Ron was waiting for him - in a place where he could easily scan not just the entranceway, but also paths to most parts of Hogwarts.

"Where've you been?" Ron Weasley asked, "You almost missed supper!"

"Race you to it!" Harry Potter said with a laugh, running through the halls with gay abandon. Ron, as usual, concluded that everything had to be fine if Harry wanted to eat (which, come to think of it, was generally true. Harry got the nerves and anxiety when he was upset, and he'd have found it odd that he wasn't off his food if he wasn't _so hungry_).

By the time they were sitting in the Great Hall, it was almost after supper - they spooned as much food as they could onto their plates while eating at the same time.

Neither of them noticed the silent regard of Slytherins - they were too busy eating and piling on more to eat to notice anything above the levels of their plates.

/~~~/

Draco Malfoy had been starting to wonder about what exactly had happened to Potter, when he hadn't shown up to midday dinner. Probably out playing Quiddich, was his conclusion. Wait, had they had tryouts yet? For whatever reason, Quiddich seemed later this year. Did Potter still think he was banned?

By the time dinner rolled around, Draco Malfoy was actually less worried, because the Weasel and the Granger were also missing. Probably working in the library and forgot to procure refreshment.

A slight frown materialized on his face when Potty and the Weasel showed up, and Granger didn't. As he stood up to leave, he pocketed two chocolate pasties. Good enough for a jape, he supposed.

Harry Potter was trying to keep a rein on his temper. Really, he was. But the Gryffindor common room, after supper, is generally one of the most chaotic places on the planet. And it was no exception today, except for the minor fact that the Twins had graduated. This was aptly filled in by their Weasley Products. Harry Potter just wanted to sit somewhere and read a letter from them, really. They'd been great to have around, and he missed them - not their jokes. Thing of it was, jokes were more fun in the playing than in getting played - and now everyone could really, really easily play pranks.

Not that he'd normally begrudge a laugh or two - particularly at his own expense. But... today he was in a mood, and...

Harry Potter yawned noisily, saying to Ron (who'd been sitting beside him, but greedily eyeing Seamus and Dean playing chess across the room). "I'm gonna kip in." Ron nodded, and Harry wound up upstairs before he realized he hadn't even seen Hermione yet today. He didn't let himself worry, though. It was Hermione - trouble fled from her as if it realized exactly what a nightmare she'd be _to trouble_. Trouble wasn't her middle name - People often claimed it was Harry's, but he'd eventually realized that only Sirius deserved the title. Harry deserved Danger as a middle name, but it wasn't like he wanted to be in danger all the time. Or any of the time, really. It just found him.

Harry had wanted to yell, earlier. He still did, really. But it was late, and it was a better idea to build up a fresh head of steam tommorrow morning. Now if he could just. Get To Sleep.

Harry Potter woke, and it was pouring cats and dogs outside. So, no run today, Harry thought, thinking of barbells, and Vernon's story about how someone had noticed that bellringers were quite physically muscular, and then they'd gone and made a bar that was as heavy as the bells. Hence the bar-bell. Vernon had laughed, and then had given Dudley 25 pounds. Dudley had managed to lift it - but just barely.

Harry was sure that by now his cousin could probably lift 75 pounds. You could say many things about Dudley, but he liked his parents approval, and if Uncle Vernon wanted something, Dudley would probably manage it.

Harry wasn't looking for weight, he was looking for endurance - and pinpoint accuracy. He stepped inside a classroom inside the Gryffindor Tower, and threw up the most basic Notice-me-not ward. And then he set to work. Up and down, it was acrobatics, it was parkour - there were desks, and as Harry thought spells, better handholds than he'd started with. In fact, the room started to look more like an Escher painting than anything.

But it was a hell of a lot of fun, and Harry knew that keeping himself engaged meant he'd give it his all.

By the time he was done, he'd collapsed in a puddle of sweat, laughing quietly at himself. At least he hadn't hit his noggin this time. Snape'd have words about that! (Or he would have, had he known where Potter was practicing...).

Harry was in the shower before he started to wonder if Snape had taken his own early morning run. Had the Potions master come back in, water dripping from everywhere - except his excessively greasy hair?

Harry was abruptly glad that the water he was in was warm.

/============/

Knowing that Snape was up, Harry was down to pound on his door before breakfast. He'd had enough, and though the practice had been good for limbering himself up, it hadn't really helped with the burning anger, just submerged it for a bit. Harry thought, bemusedly, that he should be glad there was Some Way to cool himself down, if temporary.

Unbeknownst to him, four pairs of Slytherin eyes watched him discretely, as he stomped towards Snape's office. One pair of brown eyes concluded it was probably better to pester him at some other time. Any other time, really. The others just watched curiously, as if Potter dragged an entire eddy behind him.

/============/

Harry pounded on Snape's door, his stomach idly cramping - but he was used to hunger, and didn't want to take the chance of exploding on someone who didn't deserve it. Looking immaculate, Snape's long nose peered out from a half-closed door. "Potter," he growled, sounding decidedly unamused, "Had I realized you were capable of arriving early for detention, I would have made it later." Snape's eyes ran up and down Potter's lean frame.

Harry had to restrain himself from responding. He was actually trying to be a bit highhanded, and not responding to the unasked question was part of it.

"Well? Come in!" Snape snapped, not content for Harry to enter under his own power, but instead grabbing him by the collar and fairly flinging him in, before slamming the door.

Harry waited, half calmly, half flexing his fists, as Snape cast privacy spells and activated a few wards.

"The Headmaster can still enter, but it would take even him a bit of time." Snape said, with that smug look on his face.

Snape stood looking at the wards for a moment, and then retreated to his desk, sprawling in the chair, his heels crossed on his desk, as he looked up at Harry Potter, standing in front of his desk. Snape looked as casual as a lion, sunning there. It was a lie, of course - but a deliberate one. Harry Potter wondered, suddenly, if Snape ever got a chance to really relax, not just playing at it like an adult plays at being a child.

"Well, Potter? You're here now" Snape's eyes flashed with an impatient humor, "What IS it?"

"Why didn't you tell me, sir?" Harry said, and the words struck out like lances.

Snape, of course, seemed unaffected, "Tell you what." he said, and it wasn't a question. It was a demand.

"That you didn't even trust me to fight!" Harry said, his hands fists at his side. "I went through all that, and you wouldn't have let me use it!"

Harry's fist had found the desk, "What," *pound* "Was" *pound* "The" *pound* "Point?"

"Potter, think for a moment." Snape said, seemingly unfased by Harry's venomous frustration. Harry's jaw was set, and his nostrils flared. His green eyes flashed fire.

Snape uncrossed his feet, and then recrossed them the other way. "Alright. If you just want to stare at me, without getting your questions answered, well, we can do that too." Snape opened a drawer of his desk, and pulled out the latest Potions Monthly (that Harry recognized because Hermione read it).

Harry impatiently batted the magazine out of Snape's hand, saying - through gritted teeth, "I'm listening."

"An open mind is a calm mind, Potter." Snape said, his upper body leaning over to pick up the Potions magazine.

Harry Potter took a few deep breaths, and his nose at least stopped flaring, even if the set of his jaw was the same. "I'm calmer now." Harry said, as he opened his eyes.

Snape was already studying him, of course - possibly had started the moment Harry closed his eyes. "War doesn't always let you choose who gets to fight, and who gets to hide." Snape, somehow, was saying this softly, but firmly. Perhaps, Harry thought, he really was that unaffected by adolescent pique and pride. "I stand by what I've said in class - if the only thing I manage to teach you is how to survive, I've done my job well."

"You said you'd teach me to fight." Harry said.

"I said I'd teach you to be a fully trained Order member." Snape corrected.

"You weren't training me to research!" Harry snorted.

"That's true. All Order members should be able to fight in the event of an emergency." Snape said.

"Why'd you want me in the Order if I can't even fight?" Harry Potter asked.

Snape laced his fingers together, and then unlaced them. "When I taught you how to fight this summer, did you think I was giving you claws? Or maybe snakefangs?" Harry Potter looked at Snape, still sitting there looking unconcerned (though he'd put the Potions Monthly down beside himself). Harry Potter eventually nodded.

"I was not." Snape said, "I was giving you a hedgehog's spines."

"Huh?" Potter said, his anger mutating into a more abstract frustration with Slytherins and their _Fucking Mind Games_.

"Eloquent as usual, Potter." Snape said mildly.

"Sir, what does that mean?" Harry Potter said, hating that Snape had made him have to repeat himself. And then hating that he'd made that into a possibility.

"A Hedgehog's main defense is curling up into a ball, and being too painful to eat." Snape smirked.

"Sir..." Harry said, thinking inchoate and vague thoughts. "You didn't teach me defensive spells! Not many, at any rate, and they aren't better than what Flitwick teaches..."

"You focused on area attack spells," Snape said, "I'd wonder what you could do with a series of portkeys."

Harry Potter paled, "More than one, sir?" He wasn't good with them, and tended to wind up vomiting afterwards. Vomiting in the middle of battle? Not just embarrassing then, Harry thought.

Snape nodded, and said, "I'd wager that the Dark Lord himself would get dizzy, if he decided to possess you while you were portkeying so quickly."

Harry Potter nodded, before saying, "But someone would have to trigger the portkeys _for_ me, if I was possessed..."

Snape nodded, and said, "Exactly. But I believe you can trust your Order comrades to do that much."

Harry Potter started to nod, and then froze, "Exactly who would be doing that, sir? I'd probably be behind enemy lines, if I'm to be so dizzy that the Dark Lord may have trouble being in my mind." Harry didn't want to know what the consequences would be if Snape started involuntarily portkeying the Dark Lord around, even if Snape would have limited reason to know it was the Dark Lord (and it was probably a death sentence if Snape was portkeying Potter around, as well, should the Dark Lord be aware of it).

Snape said softly, "I was rather thinking Lupin."

Harry nodded, carefully and slowly. Lord Voldemort tended to treat his werewolves as shock troops, and didn't distinguish one from another aside from Greyback himself. Lupin would either need to penetrate the organization - or simply appear as a werewolf and not start any unwolfish scraps.

Suddenly, Snape sat up neatly, assuming the mien of a stern schoolteacher rather than an unconcerned ... pirate (or something like that!). "You ought to be aware that your ability to occlude while fighting is unlikely to transfer into other portions of your life."

Harry Potter looked at Snape, and then nodded, slowly. "Yes sir. I suppose it might keep me safe on a broom."

"For a questionable version of safe, which I take to be you finding as many ways to commit infernal trickery that loses Slytherin the House Cup..." Snape said sternly.

Now it was Harry that was smirking, "You mean a Sloth Grip Roll?"

"Or other such things," Snape said, affecting a disaffected air that Harry simply couldn't believe. Snape got into too many arguments with McGonagall about the sport to be that unaware of simple terminology.

"Why didn't you tell me you were reviewing the entire Order Meeting?" Harry Potter snapped, his eyes like leaping pools of green fire.

"First, because it's none of your business." Snape said, then paused, "No, for once, that's not the case. It is your business, but it is not your problem."

Snape stood, leaning over his desk to put himself at eye level with Potter, "You are a first year member of an organization that is settled in its ways, and has its own thoughts on certain matters." Snape crossed his arms, and said, "Including my inclusion on certain matters."

"Second, because you didn't ask." Snape said, smirking and looking really smug. Harry simultaneously wanted to pound his own face into the wall, and pound Snape's. Because dammit if the bastard wasn't right. And Harry could see Snape luxoriating in his realization.

"Yes," Snape said mockingly, "You will find that asking questions may, on occasion, get you the answers you wish. If not, you'll probably be given at least the knowledge that what you're asking for is secret."

"I _hate_ secrets." Harry Potter said, his growling voice coming from between gritted teeth. Snape was privately convinced that he sounded like a 3 week old lion cub, and was about as dangerous.

Snape smirked, "No, of course you don't hate _secrets_. You hate not knowing _everything_. It wasn't exactly a secret what Mr. Weasley was doing, but did you need to know it? Of course you didn't! You snuck around following me for months your first year, trying to figure out what I was doing! That was also not a secret - Dumbledore knew, as did all the other Heads of House."

Harry snorted silently, "No wonder McGonagall wouldn't believe us."

Snape looked stern, suddenly, all trace of humor vanishing like mist before noontime sun. "McGonagall fought beside me in a truly brutal war. She's had my back, as I've had hers. There was no possible thing a first year could say that could convince her that I was out to steal _The Philosopher's Stone_." Snape said, turning truth into fiction as effortlessly as he breathed. He hated knowing that most of the Order still mistrusted him - was convinced he might turn at a moment's notice, but it was the truth. As was the fact that he'd had their backs on numerous occasions, and they really ought to trust him.***

Harry was flushed at the comments, trying to pull himself back into how livid he'd been. But really, he could have asked after the last meeting. Snape might not have told him, but he'd at least have been listened to. Harry reflected wryly that he was so used to not being listened to - under any circumstances - by the Dursleys that he expected it from any adult. Which, when it came right down to it, was really just silly.

"I've wasted enough time today dealing with your piques and tantrums," Snape said brusquely, "So get to work. You can consider this as serving one of your _numerous_ detentions."

Harry Potter nodded, saying, "Yes sir," and found himself a decent (if hardbacked) stool to sit and work on casting two spells at once. It'd been an odd request from the start, but Harry quickly found that trying to make two different spells not merge was an interesting problem. So much so that he'd probably have spent the next four hours (until lunch) working on it.

... except that Hermione Granger came "looking for him." Now, Harry'd known that Hermione had been spending more consistent time with Snape than he had - all the markings on the inside of that particular suit of armor proved that.

Somewhat surprisingly - at least Harry was surprised, Snape kept his enormous nose out of it. He'd let Granger in, and then had simply sat back down and continued to grade papers. Harry hadn't wanted to look, but even while he was busy working, he was aware that Snape was working on Potions homework. And Snape's commentary on that was generally scathing - at best.

Harry tried not to worry about it, narrowing his vision down until he wasn't even thinking about Hermione. What had Snape said - that he was able to Occlude if he was in the middle of battle. Snape had been attempting wandless Legimancy on him. And that felt like cheating, but had Harry really expected otherwise? Slytherin first, teacher second, fairness never.

And then Harry dove into the intricacies of trying to cast ambidextrously, of trying to have two spells at once. He used two pencils, not even quills - a pencil had the same solidity as a wand, and thus swished more like the way Harry was expecting...

It didn't work. Nothing seemed to work, but Harry didn't let himself give up. He'd done that too many times over the years, and he wasn't about to be outsmarted by this task. Other people knew how to cast like this (though, a part of Harry asked if any Order members - except Snape - knew how? Maybe Moody?)...

Harry was not going to be unprepared. Again.

Pulling his brain back on the subject, he gathered himself._ Lumos, Nox_. First one and then the other, never the two at once.

It took about twenty minutes, before Snape looked up. "Potter," he said, "Why are you practicing paired spells?"

"Because then I'd know when I cast them simultaneously, sir." Harry Potter said, noticing Hermione Granger's head snap up, like she had a question she needed to ask. She'd learned the hard way how to bite her tongue near Snape, so Harry resolutely blocked that chain of thought.

"What is the most important element of wandless casting?" Snape asked, in a voice soft as a dropped pin.

"Willpower and intent." Harry responded. Snape just looked at him, which sent Harry's brain scrambling. When it hit him, it hurt like a bludger, "Oh."

"Yes, Oh," Snape mocked ruthlessly, "That's an advanced tactic, and one that you'd be lucky to master in ten years."*

Harry flushed in embarrassment.

"Shield and stun," Snape said, his voice sounding almost as if he wasn't even thinking about Harry anymore. Which Harry didn't mind. Having all of Snape's attention focused on you was like having a Sphinx studying you. Or was that a manticore?

***Snape's perception may not reflect reality.

**he means flavor the soup, actually.

*McGonagall, more of a generally morning person, showed up before the meeting.


	22. Voldie-ball!

It was Dinnertime, so the Great Hall was crowded. Harry Potter considered himself lucky that the Gryffindors would, mostly, shield him from the girls. Even the younger Gryffindor girls. They hadn't seemed to realize they were doing it, but that was fine too. Seamus and Ron and Neville and Dean and Hermione, all clustered around him, Dennis and Colin and Ginny a bit farther away.

Malfoy didn't look like he was doing as well, his friends merrily half the table away, as hordes of Slytherin girls (and a flock of Ravenclaws) sat nearby and chatted him up. Harry was deeply envious at how easily Malfoy managed to make talking to Girls seem. Harry didn't know what they'd want to talk to him about, and he certainly didn't want to share his feelings with them. Because, really, "You're an awful person for wanting to date me when we've barely said two words to one another, and I thoroughly hate you" is NOT suitable dinner conversation.

Something he'd picked up last summer at his relations' house, upon Dudley attempting to ask out his father's boss' daughter.

So, if even his relations considered it wrong to do at the dinner table, he'd best steer well clear. Girls around here came with hexes, don'tcha know?

"Have you noticed?" Luna said, from a position about a fist from Harry's ear. He did jump in his seat, barely restraining himself from finding better concealment.

"Luna! I didn't notice you there!" Harry said, his voice breaking in the middle, which made everyone laugh.

"Naturally," Luna said, her eyes turning from Harry... and looking at the Slytherin table, "Have you noticed that Draco Malfoy doesn't look like himself lately? Honestly, he looks like an entirely different person."

Hmm... Harry thought, giving himself a bit of time to think about it, "I can't actually picture him being this nice, no." Harry said, considering, "I'd have expected him to lose patience and start hexing, actually..."

Luna laughed, her silvery laughter permeating the room, "Oh Harry," she said softly, "Never literal, are we?"

Harry chalked that up as something else he'd figure out later - which seemed to often be the case with the daffy Ravenclaw.

Severus Snape stood on the top of the North Tower, as the North wind blew crisp and clear in the growing autumn chill. Atop the railing, beside the drop, sat crystal glasses.

Severus strode to the first one, a bonny gin; the sort he'd never seen his father drink, nor his mum. But he had smelt it, just a bit, when Lily's wedding party had come through. Not that they'd seen him, of course. He'd known better than to use magic, naturally, and a wizard without an alarm was as good as deaf. Lily had eyes only for James, anyway, so what did it matter?

Gin, local gin, the sort the distillery down the road made.

"For Lily," Snape thought but did not speak. Even if the wind made to steal his words from his mouth, someone might still overhear. He sipped the glass slowly, making the drink last as long as the memories, and there were many, up here in the gloaming cold.

There were eleven glasses of scotch, each one for a fighter, as Scots were so often born - and Borderlanders even more likely. As he sipped the fine, smooth liquor, he could smell smoke - hinting of far-off fire. Some he'd set himself, others he was dousing. "To comrades in arms," he said inside the welcoming caverns of his own head, not letting even a hint of his melancholy pass his lips.

Two shots of ouzo, for the strangers in this Mad British land, one on each side of the fight, and both uncaring for whom they fought. Mercenaries, hard men, and yet with that ready Greek grin that said _The Devil May Care, but I don't!_

Twenty glasses of wine, a third red, and the rest white, for the Continental Wizards - the reds for the French, and the white for the Germans. The Germans, trained at Durmstrang, had fought effectively as a unit, and Snape paid them tribute as such.

A snifter of apricot brandy, Snape poured, remembering how the Dark Lord had smiled at the Swiss Guard he'd purchased, and how he'd smiled more when told they'd perished, "More British Wizards live, for their deaths!" And the English crowd had roared.

Three glasses of sherry, for the Spaniards,and then two glasses of port for the witches from Portugal, who Snape had bet Dolokhov that he couldn't get to say a word, and Snape had won. Bella insisted that they'd speak to girls, but Snape had never seen it to be true.

Snape poured two glasses of rotgut gin, saving the worst for last. These he did not drink, but poured on the ground, a libation that would not pass his own lips. "Black, Potter." He said with his jaw still closed, and let himself remember. He'd had laughs at their expense, and they at his, but there'd been so much bad blood and fighting that they'd never truly reconciled, nor did Snape think they would, if given a thousand years and divine intervention. Still, they were dead before him, he thought, a wry smile on his face remembering - a thousand times, in a thousand places, how he'd told Lily the same thing. _They'll be dead before me._

"Doing the right thing is so rarely even _possible_." Snape bleakly growled, and drowned out all the voices with a Sobriety Potion. As if it was a normal day, and as if he was on his normal insomniac rounds, he headed back down to the dungeons.

Harry hadn't, to this point, really taken into account the idea that he was training, in the morning. Well, he had, kind of.

He'd thought he'd been training physically, and Snape's attacks had been... just a natural consequence of him being awake when no one else was. Not meant maliciously, but more of a "Are you there? Are your wits sharp enough to be awake at this hour?" than actual training. He'd figured he'd done well to escape Snape...

And so he had.

But he'd also been learning, apparently, exercising mental machinery that he hadn't known he'd possessed, let alone how to train. Honestly, he'd thought Snape's training was over when he'd been inducted into the Order. He'd told himself during that month that it was almost over, even.

Apparently not.

Monday Morning, he wasn't at all surprised to be dealing with a disillusioned Snape, dodging hexes and transfigured rocks as he ran. It was a trial, but one he thought he'd mastered.

Until he wound up with a cat as a hat on his head, blood running from dug-in claws.

Prof McGonagall presented a problem he hadn't thought of how to solve, but Harry knew what to _not_ do. And that was _stand around_. He dove, belly down, under a bush, hoping - futilely, that McGonagall would dive off his head.

Killing his professor (either of them, really) would wind him up in a lot of trouble. And that was above and beside the fact that he didn't _want_ to kill them.

Still, he had three spells in mind before McGonagall had finished digging her claws in - each of which would wind up with her in shreds.

Lesson Learned: He'd look in those books Hermione had for some more non-lethal spells.

In the meantime, he'd better concentrate on surviving, he thought, as he heard a slicing spell slice in atop his bush, neatly severing the top. _Shite_. He's found me!

Harry went rolling out of the bush, only to find himself pressed to the ground, Snape's wand digging into his forehead. "Hold," Snape said, and Harry froze at the command.

"Inside, for a debrief." Snape said, gesturing to the hidden door that Harry had used just a few days ago. Harry wasn't surprised that Snape had no trouble finding it, either. _Sneaky bastard_.

Severus Snape swooshed into the classroom as usual, the students clearing out of the way. Harry was near the front - shifted enough to the right that he wouldn't be in a crowd. His instincts said that before this year was done, Snape would point out to them all the detriments of being in a place where they couldn't dodge. So, Harry watched, waited, and observed.

"Can anyone tell me the difference between an opponent and an enemy?" Snape asked, having leapt gracefully onto the small dais.

The room was silent, people shuffling. Snape had one of those tones to his voice, one that said you'd better have the answer, and be right about it. "Weasley?" Snape sneered.

Ron Weasley straightened, as Harry's eyes found him - nearer the rear of course, "An Opponent is the person you compete against in a game of skill or chance. You compete via defined rules, and you each have an objective that will determine who is the winner."

"Very good," Snape said, and Harry could hear the rustling from the Slytherins - annoyed that Weasley was being complimented, and from the few Ravenclaws, who were scrambling to take notes. Harry generally didn't take notes (he'd learned the hard way that Dudley might tear them), and here he simply tried to memorize what Snape was saying. "And an enemy?" Snape purred.

"I do not know. I don't think I've got one, sir." Ron Weasley said, his blue eyes meeting Snape's black ones levelly. Harry suppressed a smile at that sight. Ron was growing up, and in so doing, losing a lot of his intemperance at the crafty old teacher.

"Is that so?" Snape purred, "Malfoy, answer the question." he said, striding to behind Weasley, without sparing Malfoy a single glance.

"An enemy is someone who means you ill, beyond all reason, beyond all temperance. An enemy is someone who you'd better make dead - because if you don't, he'll do the same to you."

Snape gave the entire class a cool look, as he said slowly, "Opponents are people you forgive easily. Enemies are people you'll never forgive. When people use the phrase "bad blood between us" - enemies is what they mean."

Snape snapped his fingers, bringing down a disillusionment spell. To the right of his dais, on the wall, appeared a Wizarding Photograph, of a person with his face torn off, the muscles and blood still working, as he screamed. Harry's eyes drifted lower, looking at the opened chest, the still beating heart, the cage of ribs - each spread out, and the gush of intestines spilled out over his legs and twitching toes. Harry could barely stand to look at him, and that was through a photograph. Harry felt his gorge rising, as he took one last look at the man - vaguely recognizing the platinum blonde hair, half-dirtied and stained with the dark-brown of long-dried blood.

Harry bent over, and spilled the contents of his breakfast onto the floor. From the sounds around the room, there were very few people who weren't doing so - Goyle, strangely, Harry saw was one. Snape, naturally, was another, though Harry thought his face was more than normally pale, if only by a shade or two.

Harry's gorge rose again at the smell, of vomit permeated everything nearby him. He bent over again, as up it came.

Snape snapped his fingers again, and there was a second picture, on the other side of him. This one looked cruder, with less finesse but no less hatred. This man had clearly been silenced, his face still there, but his scalp peeled clear off, the red shock of hair hanging by one thread of skin. He was silently screaming. Below, his lung whistled, punctured through by a stout stick. His heart hadn't been touched, but there were lines of silver thread wrapping around the aorta. His guts hadn't been touched, but his arms and legs had been mutilated - bones removed, somehow, leaving the entire arms and legs flopping back and forth as he struggled.

Harry was bent over before he'd really thought about it, the acrid burn of vomit rising though he'd long since finished evacuating breakfast. Now it was just acid. One thought ran through his head, something Malfoy had said ages past, "_You can tell by his red hair that he's a Weasley_."

_Severus Snape, Potions Professor, was a bloody robot_, Harry thought, glaring up at him as he stared the room down. Oddly enough, it was the Hufflepuffs glaring at him.

Snape wasn't one to tolerate insolence. He leapt off the dais, landing soundlessly, as he stalked closer to the glaring Hufflepuffs - Bones and Abbot foremost among them. His mouth quirked into a satisfied smirk, "The door's that way. Anyone who leaves today will get a zero on your assignment." Snape had reached the Hufflepuffs while talking, and proceeded to lean over them, his head bending on his neck to seek out each Hufflepuff's eyes in turn. "But if I were you, I'd keep walking. Take a zero for the year." Snape's mouth curled into something more than a smirk and less than a smile - a cat's look of disdain, perhaps. "Walk over the ocean, and just keep going. I can't tell you how far to go, but if you decide to leave, I suggest you _stay moving_."

For once, Harry badly wanted to see Snape's eyes - he thought Snape was being truthful, but with how collected the man was, it was often hard to tell. Harry thought Snape'd have the mocking glint of truth in his eyes, and not the sardonic laughter of someone who knows that the more he talks, the less the people in front of him will do as he says.

Snape turned around, raising his voice to a common talking range (easily heard in the dead silence, as most people averted their gaze from the photographs). "I call this A Portrait of Two Enemies. You may thank your Ministry's Auror Department for clearing this evidence from their stockpile, so that I might use it here today." Snape cast a glance across the children in front of him, the way a fisherman casts a line. "I wonder, does anyone recognize these fools?"

Goldstein, from near the back, fairly shrieked, "How _could_ you tell who they were! The one guy's not got his face on, right?" The childish objection sent a ripple of nervous laughter through the crowd.

After that, it was plain that no one was going to have the bullocks to answer the question, so Snape continued, "This occurred in the last Wizarding War. Otherwise, it would have made the papers for months, and no one would have 'forgotten' about it." Snape strode towards his dais, still talking, "This is the legacy of one Fabian Prewitt, felled in an ordinary battle, by an ordinary Avada Kedavra." At this point, Harry could feel people around him shifting uneasily.

"His brother," Snape said, nodding towards the spotted man. "Gideon Prewitt, who loved him well, took exceptional offense that his brother had been killed - so easily," Snape's voice was mocking, short stacatto tones, "And by a Malfoy no less."

"He bided his time, through battles and the tide of the war turning this way and that. But when the Dark Lord's forces were at an ebb, and his great shadow lifted to penumbral darkness, he struck." Snape looked up, not at anyone in particular, his gaze seeming to pin something that no one else could see against the far wall. "Bold, brave Gryffindor, striking the Evil Jean Malfoy, asleep in his bed." Snape's eyes did gleam, then, with a darkling humor.

"The aurors found him days later. Still alive, still screaming." Snape said.

"My father had three brothers. All dead in the War." Draco Malfoy said, simply. Harry found it odd how lifeless Malfoy sounded, as if all his color had bled away in a massive downpour.

"Your eldest uncle felt responsible, I'm sure, for the crack in the wards that let Prewitt through. He fell like a scythe on Ottery St. Catchpole, a place heretofore untouched by the war."

Harry could hear Ron Weasley breathing, it was so loud. It was also through his nose, as Ron ground out, "That's why our house is called The Burrow. It's halfways underground so that it's easier to conceal. The only safehouse that survived."

Harry caught the widening of Malfoy's eyes, the sudden spark of interest.

"Marc Malfoy didn't come for anyone but Gideon - everyone else died a quick, merciful death." Snape said, his voice hypnotic, like a low melody. "But you can see how Gideon died, screaming for anyone to help him, but denied even the slightest mercy."

Snape's eyes seemed to lash out, as he said, "An enemy is intent on making you scream your ruddy way down to Hel's own lair, and doesn't care if he damns himself to do it. In war, plenty of people will be after your head. An enemy is after your soul." Snape looked around, "But by making an enemy, you've probably already damned it yourself."

Harry had been so busy following Snape, that he hadn't noticed both Malfoy and Ron getting a space drawn around themselves, as nervous people sidled out of the way. If this was what happened when you made an enemy of their family... Well, maybe it was just best not to risk it.

Snape's dark eyes sparkled with a malicious glee - though Harry suspected if he got Snape to talking, he'd find a different person underneath - someone a lot more battle-weary than anything. "It's been one thing for me to ask you to think of your friends dead in this war. That's simple reality. Some people standing in this classroom will die."

Snape crossed his arms, "But mark me, and mark me well. If I find a single one of you producing such barbarities as these - you won't ever sleep soundly again. Run past the sun, hide on the dark side of the moon. It won't save you."

"This was a choice," Snape said, gesturing towards both photographs, "and an exceptionally poor one on multiple levels. Anyone care to explain why?"

Malfoy and Ron both spoke up, somehow managing to be completely clear despite speaking over each other.

"It's Horrible! Disgusting! _Twisted_," Ron fair shouted, his face red - Harry thought it was shame, rather than actual anger.

Malfoy's voice was soft, precision cadence rolling off his tongue, "It's counterproductive. Death's one thing, but this? No one will ever surrender. This is past fear, into hatred."

Hermione's voice was soft as well, "You sound as if you're quoting Machiavelli."

Snape cut in, his voice quiet as a sharpened knife, "Draco Malfoy wouldn't quote a muggle author of any sort. Still, he does have most of the point. The rest is aptly described by the sense of outrage inherent in Weasley's words."

"War should be about following orders, not about exceeding them with excessive cruelty." Snape said, his gaze raking the class, "However, if you haven't the stomach to face up to the sheer brutality that man is capable of..." Snape gestured sharply, "There's the door. There's still time, dwindling though it may be."

No one moved. Harry thought that a few might have considered it if people weren't looking. Certainly, if he wasn't - if Hermione, if Ron, he might have considered just walking. He'd fought a basilisk - _let_ them call him a coward - they'd called him everything else. Didn't make it true, did it?

"Believe it or not, this incident was a small one. Nearly minimal damage, though a good few died. Clans have made of each other enemies, and been slaughtered to the last person. Both sides, not a single person left standing." Snape looked around, "War's a brutal place from the start, but speak what you please, keep your wands within bounds."

The room was awkwardly silent, almost as if waiting.

"There were those that made an enemy of me at Hogwarts." Snape said, his lithe body dancing through the gaps in the crowd.

"They died before me, and not by my hand." Snape said, his teeth flashing suddenly in a broken, twisted grin. "More's the pity."

Harry felt time stop. Snape had just lied. Not just that, but he'd just lied in an incredibly obvious way. How did he expect to get away with it? Maybe, maybe he didn't? What in the hell was Snape doing?

Harry'd had enough of shouting at Snape. At least, with this, it wasn't urgent. He'd give himself a bit of time to sort out what questions he even wanted to ask...

* * *

Severus Snape sat at the high table, as always, drinking black coffee and eating considerably less than he ought to. He knew that, truly, but he didn't feel hungry. Not even Minerva's mothering could make him hungry - she always sent a bit more beef skittering onto his plate when he wasn't looking. He'd long ago learned not to glare at her, as it made no difference.

Glancing up at the students, Snape felt Potter's eyes on him. The strength of that look felt like it was going to set his hair on fire (and maybe if it was as greasy as the students always joked about, it _would_ really catch fire!). He'd been pleasantly surprised that Potter hadn't cornered him directly after class - he'd even set aside a bit of time to deal with the tempermental Gryffindor.

Well, all things change, Snape thought, even if few of them change for the better. Potter learning to rein in his temper was progress, as loathe as Snape was to admit it.

Granger was also looking up at him - her gaze weighty, like a ton of bricks. Calmer, more considerate, Granger's stare meant many more questions than Potter could ever produce. She expected everything to be given to her, rather than working it out. It was an approach that tended to chafe - Snape _hated_ when students needed to be spoonfed. And Granger demanded it, despite being perfectly capable of working things out herself.

His gaze darted to the Slytherin table, catching Malfoy's calm gaze - resting today not on Snape but on Flitwick. Some trouble with Charms homework, then, he thought. Theo had his nose in the air, despite the blatant fawning that half the Slytherin table was doing. Blaise was the attractant for the rest of the table - and most of the Ravenclaws as well.

Experiment seemed more than modestly successful, and no reported side-effects.

The Hufflepuffs were taking Snape's lesson the hardest, and he'd have been much more cheered with that realization if he thought that a single one would head for the hills.

There were days, and this was one of them, when Severus Snape's throat craved a drink - that sweet, succulent taste of alcohol that beckoned him into his cups. _Just one more.._.

No.

Not me.

Never again.

* * *

Harry hadn't realized quite what it looked like from the outside - when people were avoiding him. He noticed it now, with the seats beside Ron and Malfoy being the hardest to fill, in class after class. He'd only really noticed Ron because he was often late - and Hermione had the tendency to sit beside Neville in Herbology. Her grade was more important to her than socializing in class.

Malfoy, however, was unmistakable. He sat there with that unmistakeable Malfoy arrogance (some might call it charm, ridiculously enough), arms crossed, and didn't bother looking at whatever unlucky person sat beside him.

The classes themselves went just fine - as if by sitting beside either of the two outcasts, the person decided, on the split second, that they could trust Studies First as a motto. Harry Potter knew he'd trust Hermione with that, except if the situation was truly dire. Malfoy... well, he wasn't the one sitting next to him, now was he?

But it was interesting, Harry found, to look at it from the outside. He hadn't realized how much effort, on the part of so many people, it took to avoid someone.

Nor how little it took to _not_ avoid the person.

.../...

Harry arrived first to training that night, awaiting Ron and Malfoy and Hermione. Hermione buzzed in first, summoning the books they'd smuggled out of the library with a thought. Malfoy arrived moments later, as Hermione frowned, looking over at him, "Didn't I just see you surrounded by a horde of fourth years, mugging for all of them?"

"Appearances can be deceiving..." Malfoy said.

Hermione grit her teeth, stalking over to him and growling, "of course they can." She grabbed his left arm, and rolled up his sleeve. Neither Harry nor Hermione was surprised to see the expanse of smooth skin.

Harry was, however, surprised with what she did next. She glared at the arm, and... the glamour _melted_. Harry couldn't have managed that without at least thinking of the spell... but he sensed that Hermione had done it out of sheer force of will - and the need to verify that the pointy git was actually him.

Hermione gave an impulsive grin, said, "Magically delicious!" and flounced back to her books, curling up there to start reading.

Malfoy and Potter exchanged rather dubious looks, and Harry began his normal stretching, bouncing up and down on his toes as he stretched.

Malfoy, on the other hand, seated himself just a hair behind Hermione and off to the side, drawling, "Stop hoarding the books like they're dragon's gold. You know if you let other people look at them, you won't need to steal other people's turns to teach."

Hermione looked up at him, her angry eyes bright - for only a moment, before she realized that he did have a point. "Here," she said, passing him two books on wicked charms, "You do better at charms than transfiguration, anyway."

Malfoy blinked, taking the books almost absentmindedly, "You noticed..." Harry knew Malfoy was always hard to read, but that sounded suspiciously sentimental.

"I notice a lot of things," Hermione said dismissively.

Ron bounced in the door, and Harry got to work shielding and firing curses. It took about twenty minutes before Hermione and Draco joined in, but when they did, it turned into a fourway that had all of them bound in ropes and immobilized at some point. Everyone was laughing by the end of it, seeming to push away most of what they'd seen earlier.

Hermione broached the subject with the bluntness Gryffindors are known for. "How is it that you two are remotely getting along, anyway?"

Ron took a deep breath, _It's never a good sign when even Ron is trying to pick and choose his words, _so it was actually Draco Malfoy who spoke up first. "All of that... I'd never heard about it, not really. You know - as a kid, you hear things. And Slytherins have sharp ears." _Harry knew. _"But... I'd heard disparaging and cruel comments about the Weasleys, along with an undercurrent of _we're better than them._" Draco softly shuddered, "Not... not that."

Ron took up the words, "Me too. And I'm glad I didn't hear about it. It was bad enough now. Can you imagine, as a kid?"

Ron, Harry and Draco laughed, though it _really_ wasn't funny.

"Nightmares for a week!" Ron roared, in his characteristic understated way.

Ron said, "I heard all about Malfoy's father, the slippery bastard that he was, and how he'd manage to bribe his way out of jail."

Draco Malfoy inclined his head, "Thank you." he said dryly.

"It wasn't a compliment." Ron responded, the grin taking the sting out of the words, "Just accurate."

Hermione, still with that look of "Please Explain This", said, "So what changed? You two used to fight like cats and dogs!"

Ron and Malfoy exchanged uneasy looks, both seemingly unwilling to explain...

Ron spoke up first, "I met Tonks. And, you know," Ron paused, and then said, a bit chagrined, "Actually, you don't. Everyone says that the Blacks are mental. Like, not just crazy, but scary crazy."

Harry asked, hesitantly, "Like Bellatrix Black?"

Draco Malfoy smiled a cold cruel smile, "Just like that. That's the rep." Harry nodded, understanding - if everyone in the neighborhood thought he was a criminal... How much worse would it have been to be thought of like that?

Ron said, "Well, you know, she's normal. Like friendly, even."

"Well, she was in Hufflepuff," Hermione said.

"What does the younger Potions Teacher have to do with anything?" Draco Malfoy asked, looking like he didn't want to ask, but couldn't quite stop himself from revealing his ignorance.

"She's your cousin, your mother's sister's kid." Ron said, then, assessing the confusion, grinned broadly, "Didn't you know?"

Draco Malfoy stared into thin air, blinking, before saying quietly, "No..."

Harry piped up, "Her mother got disinherited for marrying a Muggleborn," he said helpfully.

"oh..." Draco Malfoy said, sounding more lost than Harry had ever seen him.

Ron turned to Hermione, "Anyway, I got to thinking - if she was so normal, then I shouldn't be so quick to judge."

Draco Malfoy nodded, raising his eyebrows slightly. _Impressed with Ron Weasley? _"I am not my father, no."

Hermione turned to Malfoy, and said, "So, we know what changed in Ron. How about you?"

Draco Malfoy said, "A number of things, really," _stalling for time... _Malfoy's eyes flicked down... to his left arm. _Or not._ "But really? I grew up. It's one thing to be a bastard to the next kid, when the best you can do is spit slugs. It's another to knowingly cross people when the cards are down. The stakes are higher now."

Harry nodded, "And one thing about games - you can never tell who'll win."

Ron and Hermione walked out the door, arguing loudly about homework. Harry was about to follow when Draco grabbed the sleeve of his robe. "You asked me to find an answer..."

Harry paused, slowly shut the door, and then turned around, "I did."

"I have the answer now." Draco Malfoy said, "-but I need to tell you something first."

Harry Potter looked at Draco, trying to figure out what Malfoy was trying to say. Slytherins were always tricky to read, and Malfoy was one of the quieter ones when he wanted to be. "Go on, then."

"Theo, Blaise, and I -" Draco paused, then continued, sounding more sure of himself, "We've been switching places. Just for the last week or so."

Harry thought back, mentally reviewing everything, "Not in Snape's Defense class, I hope."

"No, that'd be too obvious," Draco said, smirking, "But pretty much anywhere else."

"How? No, before that - Why?" Harry demanded, his hand finding its own way to his hip.

"Do you have any-" Draco Malfoy broke off, and said, "They come after me too, you know."

_Oh._ Harry nodded, saying, "Still haven't found a date?"

"I've been letting Blaise run interference, really. He likes flirting with any skirt he can find." Draco Malfoy said.

Harry frowned, saying slowly, "That doesn't sound like you, really... Hasn't anyone noticed?"

Draco Malfoy smirked, saying smugly, "If you didn't notice, do you really think some tatty third year is gonna?"

"How about Pansy?" Harry asked, "Surely she-"

"Doesn't want anything to do with me, now that father's wealth is fast becoming the Dark Lord's own." Draco Malfoy said, smirking. "We weren't well matched."

"Good, that saves me having to stammer out some sort of awkward condolences." Harry said with a laugh that Draco returned.

Suddenly Harry shot up straight, "Luna knew!"

Draco looked a bit confused, "... she did?" Blinking a bit, he asked, "How do you know that Luna knew-?"

Harry laughed, a full throated belly laugh, "She said you looked like a different person." Harry quieted down, "I can understand not wanting to deal with it all - I've been mostly hiding."

"No wonder you've been so dusty." Draco Malfoy said, smiling. "Poor Harry Potter, ragamuffin extraordinare!" Draco Malfoy bowed elaborately at Harry, bending down so his upper body was parallel to the floor.

"Doesn't seem to get you much, looking like Zambini..." Harry said, pondering.

Draco interrupted, "Try to keep up, Potter. I look like Nott, Zambini looks like me."

Harry snorted, "Nobody wants to date Nott?"

"Pretty much," Draco Malfoy said firmly, "He's pretty awkward, with words and everything else."

"I know the feeling," Harry said, "How does he do at pretending to be Zambini?"

Draco Malfoy said smugly, "Well, Blaise looks mysterious half the time - which the girls gush over - so all Nott has to do is not say anything."

"Hell, that's good!" Harry said, "Wish I'd thought of it."

"Of course, what did you expect? We _are_ Slytherin," Draco Malfoy said smugly.

"How in the world are you pulling this off?" Harry asked, his eyebrows creased with the beginnings of a frown.

"Polyjuice, what else?" Draco Malfoy said, "A lot more reasonable than glamours, at any rate."

"How the hell did you get the ingredients?" Harry Potter said, "Two weeks, three people, that's a LOT!"

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow, "Surprised you'd realize that, honestly."

"Fourth year, Moody wasn't exactly Moody." Harry said bluntly, "The real Moody told me afterwards. That deception had cost hundreds of galleons."

"Luckily this wasn't that expensive," Draco Malfoy said, "We paid for it in parchment, actually."

"What?" Harry asked, knowing - instinctively, that Draco was just hiding the truth.

"A grant proposal, for Professor Snape. Plus a magically bonded contract saying we wouldn't use it to cheat on anything academic, or do anything romantically permanent." Draco Malfoy looked exceptionally smug, which was saying something.

"Snape's been making you polyjuice?" Harry's jaw dropped open.

"It's good to be a snake," Draco Malfoy smirked.

Harry Potter looked over at Draco Malfoy, and asked slowly, quietly, "You said you had something to tell me. In private, obviously, because here we are." It wasn't quite a demand, but it was a recentering.

Draco nodded, still smirking, "My mother wrote back. I've got a bit of parchment to give you." Something, something strange echoed in Malfoy's eyes. "She said I wasn't to look at it..." Draco Malfoy hung his arm around Harry's neck, speaking nearly in his ear - "But maybe you'll tell me, bucko."

Harry suddenly had a _very bad feeling_ about all this. Not that he was going to let _Draco Malfoy_ know _that_..., so he smirked back, and said, "Fat chance."

"I guess you win the bet then..." Draco said, stalling - and Harry could tell.

"Yeah," Harry said - then froze, as an impossibly odd idea unfolded in his brain, like an ice flower in the desert.

"Dra-co..." Harry said slowly, "I think you were right. We should go to the Ball together."

"What?!" Draco said, flinging himself away from Harry, then crossing his arms.

"You suggested it, remember?" Harry said, a genuine smile playing on the edge of his lips - not quite all there.

"You know I don't like blokes." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes slightly wider. _Maybe he'd just been talking the piss earlier? Teach him to do that with a Gryffindor!_

"Neither do I," Harry said, his grin finally breaking through "But it'll make most of the girls _go away_, won't it?"

Draco Malfoy dropped his frown, smirking as he struck a pose, "Well, when you put it that way." His face turned to Harry's, and he said, with a delighted smirk, "You're on."

Draco stalked close to Harry, and slapped the fine piece of white parchment into Harry's waiting hand. Harry looked at him dryly, and said, "I don't suppose you're going to take a hike, are you?"

"Nope," Draco said, popping the "p". "Fraid not, Potty."

_Dammit_, Harry thought wrathfully, keeping his face carefully smooth. He was mostly a really shite actor, but he'd had _extensive_ practice at the Dursleys for that _particular_ emotional lobotomy.

Fighting to make sure his hands didn't tremble, Harry opened the parchment. On it were written two words:

_Lily Evans_

Harry kept his face still, by sheer force of will - but the paper, that he hadn't been thinking about, blazed into fire (Malfoy swore quietly, seemingly from far away). Harry had thought that he'd been... angry, upset, what-have-you, earlier that year. It was _nothing_ compared to this.

People spoke of a broken heart, when they meant one rent, torn in half, and bleeding.

Harry didn't feel like that, no, not at all. He felt shattered, like even his emotions had blasted out of his control.

He wasn't even _angry_.

He was _everything_, all at once, a storm of varied emotions.

He turned, like a robot, and said to Malfoy, "Leave, _now_."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, _almost_ \- but Malfoy _wasn't_ his _friend_.

Giving the tiniest nod, Malfoy left the room, shutting the door quietly.

And Harry let himself _feel_.

Fury, Vindication, Betrayal, Exhiliration, Unstaved Curiousity, Bewilderment.

Harry had stopped thinking, and just let himself _feel_.

It was like painting a picture in three dimensions, and by throwing paint everywhere.

A thousand lines of thought cried out for attention, but, shaking, Harry realized he couldn't think of a single one.

His brain rippled, and his body tensed, his stomach churning with butterflies of unsought emotion.

Hagrid, Sirius, Lupin, even McGonagall flashed thorough his mind. Looming over all of them, charging into the front, was Albus Dumbledore himself.

None of them had said a word - and he'd _asked_.

He was seized by a mad moment of curiosity - shot through with vermillion rage, to shake them all, to demand answers even if he had to get them from bloodied and bleeding mouths. Betrayal, black as tar and cloying to boot, threatened to bubble up beneath his feet.

Confidence, steady and deep blue, shot through him - he _knew_ how to punch now.

Snape's scene from earlier hit him like a freight train - the slight yellow tinge of fear nearly washed away with the sickly green of disgust.

No - his anger screamed for release, and Harry cast about frantically for any distraction, not wanting to set the room on fire, like he'd set the paper ablaze.

It was difficult, like standing straight in a hurricane - his emotions threatened to sweep him over the side, immersing him in the sea.

_I am the master of my fate,_

_I am the captain of my soul._

Harry hadn't realized how disobedient his soul was - humor rippled through him, cheery, boldly bright-yellow, and that calmed the sea, somewhat.

His curiosity shot through him, like a wave of focus, like the scythe of the cutting curse. Images lept to the fore, scenes, little things.

_Snape's eyes, that he hadn't seen, but now found he could picture, as he stood in the teachers' stand at Harry's first quiddich game. They burned, as he softly chanted a counterspell._

_"Your mother, on the other hand... She was a talented witch, deft with a wand. Not even the Dark Lord would dare to say that she wasn't competent. I'll certainly not be the first."_ Harry remembered that quite well, he'd made a mental note of it, because nobody ever mentioned his mother.

_Snape's voice didn't change in the slightest, and yet by intonation and speed alone, he achieved a completely different feel to his voice. "Severus, you can't keep going after them! You're just encouraging them to come up with more vile pranks! They're in my house for god's sake, I know them well enough to know that!"_ Somehow that last thought was calming. He'd heard it at the time in Hermione's voice, as she was often the Voice of Reason... But, Harry was sure of it, suddenly, _that'd been his mum._ It somehow, oddly, helped, knowing that Snape hadn't been trying to hide his friendship with her... that he wasn't _ashamed_... of her.

And... Shite. The Pensieve! He'd almost glazed over the fact that his mum had been there. What his father had done was _sickening_, after all. But that hadn't been why, at all, had it?

It wasn't quite _remembering_.

It was realigning, reinterpreting.

Understanding, teal green - Harry tried to use it to distract himself, letting the magma beneath cool into fluffy stone.

He felt the moment when it cracked, when rage and betrayal began to pour out of his depths, red and black - and as unwavering as lava.

Harry closed his eyes, letting the emotion sway his mind, and not his magic.

He opened his mouth, and screamed.

./././.

That was the sound that the Dark Lord Voldemort heard, echoing down past his frail shields.

Lord Voldemort stirred, and surged in, battered by the deluge of emotion _shoved_ at him.

No.

Exploding _everywhere_.

Harry felt the soft ripples of Lord Voldemort's penetration, through the waves of emotion Harry himself was throwing to the nine winds.

He felt a quick flash of shocked fear, _He's here!_

Harry let his eyes close, and he took a deep breath. The same words echoed again - _He's here, inside my mind. My turf, my rules. _The confidence chased away the vestiges of fear.

_And Harry? Harry wanted to __see__. Who was this, what was this thing inside his mind? Harry wanted to __play__._

Unbidden, Harry's unconscious reshaped the mental landscape. A green, grassy meadow sprawled in all directions, an actinic blue sky with a blazing sun overhead. Harry himself was a gloriously big, shaggy black dog. And Voldemort? he was a ball - the oddity scented and then trapped, walled off from Harry himself. Harry loped over to the ball, sniffing it curiously. It smelled... a bit like pee. _Fear_ And a bright, spiky scent... _Anger. _Harry picked up the ball, and started to run, throwing it away from himself in an arcing high arc.

Then Harry gave a woof and ran after it, trying to catch the ball before it dropped into the grass. _Got it! _Gleaming white teeth closed harmlessly around the bright red ball. That seemed curiously angry about the color choice - with a shake of his doggy head, Harry turned it pine green, which seemed to make it happier. Harry wagged his tail - he liked making happy!

He threw the ball into the air again, and again, sometimes catching it with his teeth, sometimes watching it _Bounce!_ and then catching it. Harry could feel the ball getting dizzy, could almost smell... terror, that was it, black as deepest fear. Harry didn't care much, though. It was a ball, and it was for _playing_!

Harry played with the ball until his muscles were sore, and he laid down, letting the ball roll from his mouth. He knew, somehow, that he shouldn't just let the ball there. Closing his eyes, he began to grow, as large as a cow, and opened red eyes. He picked up the ball, which swirled green, angry swirls inside itself. _Confusion, Trepidation._

Harry trotted towards the horizon, weary but willing, coming up to a circle of stones, where Harry dropped the ball in the dead center. The ball seemed to hum, trying to say something that Harry wasn't listening to. _You aren't supposed to be here,_ Harry thought, and coughed, and coughed again. On the third cough, fire poured from his mouth, engulfing the circle but not setting the grass around it on fire.

Harry curled into a ball by the fire, and watched warily but satisfied as the ball burnt to ash, its cinders and smoke floating upwards on the breeze.

[a/n: This is one of my favorite chapters. Leave a review?]


	23. Reaction

Severus Snape was coming back from gathering potions ingredients, which meant that he rather inconveniently had freshly harvested moonlilies in one arm (in a basket, naturally), and had still-cheeping chiggers in the other (in a jar, so they didn't fly or burrow away - or into his skin, which would be more inconvenient). So, naturally, he dropped the chiggers on the ground when his left forearm started to burn.

First, he cursed a blue streak, while stamping his feet and staring at the fleeing vermin. _Those are going to be hell getting out of the dormitories. _Snape smirked - by sheer fortune, he was closer to the Hufflepuffs dormitory than the Slytherins. _Maybe I'll tell Pomona in the morning._

Gently setting down the moonlilies, and charming them with a delicate notice-me-not charm (The entire hallway would still smell of the deceptive fragrance, but if students hadn't learned to beware bewitching substances... he'd rescue them _in the morning_).

Snape strode towards his office, wondering what in heaven's blazes had gone wrong. There were so many things to choose from - had Lucius finally overstepped, or made it clear to the Dark Lord that it _was_ a game? If the latter, they were both in big trouble. Dragon-sized you might say.

Or maybe the Dark Lord wanted to celebrate - perhaps he'd captured an Order member, or a dozen muggles for a Dark Party (everyone got just as stinking drunk as a Light Party - Snape should know, but the sexual festivities were a good deal less consensual).

Inside his office, he donned the Death Eater mask - glad that his school robes would pass for somewhat-hurried Death Eater attire. As he strode out one of the "secret" tunnels, he transfigured his robe into a long cloak - it was just tinkering, but still vital.

As he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Snape sniffed the air lightly - stepping outside the borders of Hogwarts was dangerous in the best of times, he needn't fall prey to a centaur or a werewolf. At his age, that would be humiliating. The air smelled crisp and clean, so Snape stepped out and spun on his heel.

With a clap like Thunder, Snape appeared in the outskirts of the Manor. Great, striding through shite again, Snape thought darkly,* Guaranteed to improve my mood.

Snape mentally locked down all his emotions, hiding everything - even the impatience, beneath the dark waters. On the strand, Snape constructed his sandcastle - what he wanted the Dark Lord to see today, down to how much he despised Dumbledore and his reverberating hatred of James Potter and Sirius Black - that reverberated on Harry Potter until the boy's skull rang with the hatred and the well-deserved vengeance.

Snape's eyes and ears were alive, using his peripheral vision and straining his ears to find any company. It was empty, at least out here. The Dark Lord had grown complacent since His Return. Snape remembered a time when there would have been guards, even in the most warded of Manor houses.

Pettigrew was there to greet him. Because of course he was - Pettigrew couldn't possibly leave and do something useful, could he? He was a spy, but one who crawled and crept into small crevices. Snape had a thousand uses for the man, if only he could be trusted. Pettigrew couldn't be trusted for anything - not the Dark Lord, the Light, the Dark, not Lucius, not Snape - there was plenty of ambition in the snivelling man, but the fear tended to run over everything, and he'd bend to the person closest to him at the moment. _Please don't kill me!_ was his motto.

Snape gave Pettigrew a curt nod as he strode by, leaving Pettigrew to call after him, "He's in the blue room." Snape kept his smugness behind his Occulumency. A good sign, that - The Dark Lord gave punishments in the Throne Room (really, a winecellar in the basement, but the lack of natural light meant the spots would hit the Dark Lord, leaving the rest of them in shadow, or vice versa, as he pleased.).

Snape entered the Dark Lord's presence, which felt like entering a basic* miasma, where your entire self would erode in time. Snape knelt on one knee, before humbly saying, "My lord." _Was it a new assignment?_

"Severusss..." Lord Voldemort said, "Today I felt something most curious indeed. Out of the mind of Harry Potter, I felt a deluge of emotion."

Snape, still kneeling, looked up at the Dark Lord, and spat, "He is a Gryffindor, sire." His voice radiated assurance and smugness as he continued, "Their emotions run amok quite easily I've found." Beneath his mental ocean, in the muddy unconscious, his mind scrambled for any sign of what had happened. There was nothing, he learned, as he looked down at the mucky sand... spread flat on the oceanfloor.

"Do you, perhaps, know what might have caused this emotional outburst?" the Dark Lord inquired, those blood red eyes boring into Snape's black eyes. Snape held his gaze steady - to do otherwise was certain death.

"I do not, sire." Snape responded, "I could have caused it, surely enough, as could Draco Malfoy - who the blasted Potter brat considers his rival." _Naked lies, _Snape thought, deep in the ocean's dark depths. _Malfoy doesn't know enough about Potter, not really - Potter's easy to rile, but this? I could have done it - hell, I could have broken him... but..._

"Fool that he is," The dark Lord said, without specifying who he was talking about. "Do you think Malfoy might have caused it?"

"No sire," Snape said, lifting his lip in a sneer, "Malfoy wouldn't poke Potter without backup, and I was supervising Crabbe and Goyle at the time." _What in blazes was Potter up to now?_

_"_If you're certain, Severus, then I needn't summon him here."

"That might be noticed, sire. I am confident in my assessment."

"Find out, for me, if you can," The dark lord said, in his vastly-foreshortened mercy.

"I shall, sire." Snape said.

"Very curious, that a stripling boy might manage..." The Dark Lord broke off, "Standing order: keep the boy alive. He interests me." _Shite._

"As my lord commands," Snape said, bowing until his neck was parallel to the floor.

"You are dismissed." The dark lord said.

Snape stood and stalked off, keeping his determination at the forefront of his mind. It was only as he apparated to Hogwarts, that he peeked beneath his darkling ocean again. _The Dark Lord doesn't know why Potter had an outburst. But he looked! _Snape froze at the thought, mind whirling. _How?_

Snape strode towards Hogwarts with one thought in mind: wringing the truth out of Potter, howeverlong it took.

Disillusioned, Snape entered through the front door of Hogwarts, sparing not a moment to sooth Filch, who seethed with irritation at the interruption of his routine. His mask was safely stored in a pocket, and his robes were reverted to Ordinary School Robes (as he had a dozen, it would go without comment).

Snape headed towards the dungeon, first, hoping that the map he had would prove useful. A relic of his schooldays, it wasn't his originally - but he hardly doubted the owner would object to his very chary use of the dratted thing.*#*

Snape's office was off the beaten path, and deliberately so. The Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms were in easy to find areas - Snape never wanted people to be accidentally nearby his office. Too many things to go wrong with that, including seeing people who _weren't supposed to be there_. To aid in the gloomy, "This is _not_ a fun place, do not come here" vibe, Snape had dimmed and diminished the lights, until there were only pools of light in between thick shadows. It had served tolerably well - the Weasley Twins proved more puissant and contrary than most, of course.

On the wellworn stone, smooth as water, Snape glided like a shadow of a shade. He was surprised, but carefully did not show it, when he saw the Bloody Baron in front of him. He passed beside the ghost, saying not a word. He trusted if it was important, the ghost would stop him in his tracks.

Quietly but swiftly, Snape strode towards his office. Time was of the essence, but - even before that, he had to know _what happened_.

Two and a third turns away from his office, Snape heard a soft and strangled whimpering. Cursing inside his head, he turned, navigating by sound in the dark hallways, finding a dark, small alcove. Snape knelt, carefully on the outside of the alcove, remaining mostly hidden. He muttered a soft Lumos, illuminating the area as if by candlelight through a smoked glass.*!*

Snape's eyes saw the glasses first, and then the dark hair, "Potter," he breathed, as softly as a falling leaf. _No response. _Harry Potter just sat there, curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth, eyes closed.

Snape shifted, moving into the alcove and slowly brightening the light to that of a full candle, "Potter!" Snape demanded, in a soft voice.

_No response._

Snape's hand flashed out, cracking against Potter's face, as Snape demanded, "Potter!" his voice echoing unnaturally in the clammy quiet. Cursing inside his head, Snape cast a simple spell, enlarging Potter's head to three times the size.

Then, with a rather put upon sigh (_one never knew who might be watching)_, Snape picked up the boy, tossing his head over Snape's back, and hauled the child towards his office. _I'm getting too old for this..._ Snape thought, internally muffling a groan. _Potter may be the lightest child in his year, but he's still near grown._

Snape shrugged Potter onto his desk - the boy hit it with a boneless thunk, sending half-corrected essays flying. Snape saw Harry curling up into a ball, and then rolling to a sitting postion, as Snape watched. Snape wasn't an expert on catatonia, but he thought this didn't look quite right.*~* Jerking out of his reverie, Snape started casting silencing spells, secrecy spells, anti-eavesdropping spells.

_Burn him, I don't have time for this_, Snape thought, as he at last canceled the swelled head charm (it was a rarity, and perfectly mimicked a very common potion - he'd never hoped to have a use for it, but he'd learned it anyhow).

"Potter," Snape snapped, looming over the boy. _Nothing._

"Harry," Snape said, letting the weighty word drop from his lips with an excess of care that would undoubtedly be read as sarcasm. _Still nothing._

Snape studied Harry for a moment, then walked behind him - Snape's black eyes growing wider as Harry _didn't move_. Snape _knew_ he was acting threatening enough to evoke a threat response, a learned reflex. Potter's unresponsiveness meant that he'd shut the world out - and effectively, which was something Snape himself had never been able to manage. With his eyes closed, Snape couldn't even try legimancy if he'd wanted to - and who knew what Legimancy would do to the truly bereft of their senses?

Snape snarled, sounding inarticulate for a moment, as his hand pounded once on Potter's back - so hard that the boy's body jerked. Snape's voice boomed, "Boy, get up."

At that, Harry Potter blinked, starting to look around - more frightened than anything. _Some__ self-preservation, at least._

Snape strode into view, elegance personified. _Now, for some answers._ "Potter, report." Snape snapped, his voice a perfect drill-sergeant on parade.

Harry's spine straightened, as if by some mythical metal rod, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Snape watches, as Harry Potter stares into nowhere - not, as before, because he wasn't aware of his surroundings, but because he's remembering.

"I was... upset. No, no that's not it. More than upset." Harry's green eyes look up at Snape, who holds himself in a controlled parade rest - by sheer force of will retaining the pretense that enables Potter to report, rather than _think_. Snape wants to crouch down, meet Potter's eyes dead on, and _see_.

"I was... everything, all of it, all at once. All the feels, cascading through me." Harry said, his voice sounding leaden. Snape's eyes tried to find, in Harry's face, what had caused it. Almost unnaturally, his face is still, only his mouth moving - as if his whole face had been dipped in wax.

"The Dark Lord described it as a deluge." Snape said dryly, sounding unimpressed.

"It ... was a lot, hot cold, bright and dark." Harry shook his head, "I could have handled it if I was _just angry_." Snape heard the ring of truth in that statement. _What_ had caused this major malfunction? Snape thought with irritation. _Of Course, _The Dark Lord wants to know. Hell, if Albus heard a _whiff_ of this, he'd want to know too. And that would be all Snape needed at this point, faked sorrow and understanding at how he _couldn't possibly_ be expected to pry something out of gritted Gryffindor teeth.

"The Dark Lord only put up minimal shielding," Snape sneered in sympathy, "I wouldn't want to be bothered by adolescent angst, either." _Of course, that is my other job, hated as it is._ Snape thought grimly.

Harry looked at him, and seemed to shrink, somehow, pulling back inside himself.

Cursing at himself, Snape cracked, "Go on."

"I... I felt him, trying to worm his way into my mind." Harry said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of a very un-Gryffindor fear. _Not that I'd feel much better, _Snape thought wryly, _If the dark lord was invading my undefended mind._

"And?" Snape said, demanding with the question, letting Potter choose what he told.

"I..." Harry sits there blinking, vaguely staring into the distance, "I was _curious_. I wanted to _know_..." Snape was once again left pondering how in blazes this child had managed to convince the Sorting Hat that he would be a good fit for Gryffindor. "Charge Ahead" Gryffindor - Snape's mental image was of Sirius Black, unreasonable and doggedly determined, "Blow it to Pieces, and then Ask Questions" - Alastor Moody for that one, though really half the Auror Corps fit the mold, after he'd trained them.

Harry hung his head, "I don't think I got much out of it, really..."

"What _happened_?" Snape asked, rapidly discarding any concept of interfering with Potter's line of thought.

"I... wasn't interested in my memories... I was interested in him..." Harry said, almost stuttering. "My mind chose the landscape - unconsciously, you know." _Yes, I do know, that's a novice mistake..._

Harry swallowed a gulp. "It was a big, open grassy field - my memories were in the grass, I remember that part - they weren't important, though."

"I had all my attention focused on him, and- I was a dog, sir. A big, black, curly-haired dog." _Oh, the gods are laughing now. _Snape bit back his sarcastic wit, and waited.

"He was... he was a ball." Harry said, his voice cracking into small hoots of laughter as he spoke - the edges of hysteria starting to creep back in. "I was playing chase with it." Harry looked up at Snape, his glass green eyes wide, "I don't think he liked it, much."

_Lord Voldemort has always liked being in control, so, no, I don't think he liked it very much._ Snape bit back any words.

"I threw him in a circle of stones, so the grass wouldn't burn." Harry said, "And then I coughed up some fire, and he left in a puff of smoke." _Oh, how appropriate. And they tell me this boy is a wizard._

"Then what happened?" Snape rapped out.

"I came back to myself," Harry said, "Was me again, not just the part of me that wanted... _that_."

Harry looked up at Snape, who's surprised to not see a shred of distrust, "You know occulumency. You'd be able to tell me what I just did. And... I ought to report interactions with the Dark Lord, sir. That hasn't changed."

Snape gave a nod of acknowledgement, trying to work out for himself why Potter had been near comatose when he'd arrived.

"You weren't there, sir." Harry Potter said, "And then it hit me - I'd had the Dark Lord in my mind." Harry started rocking again, and Snape was about to grab his chin and force him to make eye contact, when Harry Potter asked, "What do I do? Sir, what do I do now?"

Snape looked at Potter, his dark eyes faintly disbelieving. Potter wanted all the answers, and without having given Snape much more than a fragile reed to hang, well, anything on - schemes or hopes or plans. "Perhaps, with all the information, I might be able to offer some guidance."

"What do you need?" Direct and straight to the point, Gryffindor.

"What exactly caused your emotions to spiral so? It is unusual to see you so discombobulated." Snape said, his eyes showing the dark glint of curiosity.

Harry Potter nodded - a short bob of his head, "Yeah." _Oh, how eloquent these Gryffindors be._*%*

_And then, something odd happened._ Potter's jaw jutted forward, his beryl eyes glinting like stones.*!* Snape recognized that look - it was so quintessentially Gryffindor it made his teeth ache*!*!*. It was the look Lily had had when she didn't want to say something. Lily'd plant her feet in the ground, and wouldn't be moved. Not that Snape couldn't talk her around... eventually. But it had always taken time...

Locking up his impatience (which shouted at him to shake the answer right out of Potter), Snape looked again at Potter. _There was something about that look... _It niggled at Snape, like something just on the edge -

Abruptly, his mind caught up with itself. That jutting jaw and grim eyes was the spitting cousin to a look that Malfoy had had on his face... after the debacle at the Hall of Mysteries, when news had been scarce, and Malfoy had feared Lucius sentenced to Azkaban without even a show trial. It was the look of a child battening down the hatches to avoid an explosion - hoping that the ship would contain the press of feelings.

Snape wrestled, then, with the unfamiliar thought that Potter might actually be _right_ to withhold information. _Nobody_ wanted the Dark Lord summoned to Potter's mind twice in one night. And if Potter was stuffing his emotions into a locked chest...

Then Snape _ought not_ to try Legimancy. Too much risk of tugging at the wrong memory.

Worse, Snape knew he'd be bothered by this mystery until he thoroughly understood it. _As if I needed one more thing to think about!_

"At this time," Snape said softly, "It would not be a good idea to verify whether this so-called defense of yours was a fluke. You are to treat it as such."

Snape studied Potter, thinking what he should really say - wondering if saying anything would cause Potter to explode like a bomb. Snape looked Potter up and down, and said shortly, "We will talk later. I must report to Dumbledore. Stay here for now." Snape hoped that Potter would merely conclude that Snape was reporting Potter's own experiences, and not another holiday at the Dark Lord's.

Severus Snape strode through the empty, deserted halls of Hogwarts, returning to his office, where Potter awaited (or possibly slept, it was late at that, and as insensate as he'd been, catatonic did not equate to true rest).

It was strange, Snape thought, to wake up, blinking and bleary eyed, and discover the world had been turning while you were asleep. At least, that was the way it had felt to him, as Dumbledore had calmly asked him, "Do you think I ought to speak with him?"

And yes, it was true that Potter was no longer The Chosen One, and thus Dumbledore's interest would quite naturally wane. But...

_Still_.

There was a time when Dumbledore had never even considered asking what Snape thought of his relationship with Harry Potter. And, to ask it in such a way... to nearly - or maybe actually - hand the decision making off to him...

It was unsettling.

Not nerve-wracking, no. That was reserved for the niggling question (growing larger by the moment, like the worm that ate the WorldTree, bringing Gotterdamerung upon us all) of _What had upset Potter so?_ Had Snape a ready answer, even if it was wrong, the question would have been shoved aside. And, with adolescents, easy answers were often close to hand. But... Potter hadn't a romantic relationship, nor even one "in the offing" nor stillborn even - he'd been granted the chance to take anyone he'd care to ask (and with a ready response of "to keep the Potter Mania at bay"), and he hadn't made any move at all. Nor was this the motion of someone whose interest had been caught by someone already in a relationship. Oh, Snape knew _well_ the indulgent sighs and "woe is me" attitude of the unrequited love, that generally ended up with someone poisoned, or eyes blackened, or other _inconvenient_ departures from Snape's usual day.

Snape sighed, and started again from the top, his feet winding their way unguided back to his office, following routes so well-worn he didn't need to think about them.

An Emotional Storm.

_generally caused by unpleasant revelations..._ And for Potter to be so emotionally _guarded_, so _intent_ on locking his emotions down...

Snape didn't _like it_. It didn't _fit well_ with his own model of the boy, and Snape liked to think that he could predict Potter better than Potter knew himself...

Snape stepped back, put a different face on things. What would cause Ron Weasley to act like this? (aside from the lad's lovelife, which was obviously not the issue) Weasley had what Potter lacked - a family. And Weasley might have broken at unpleasant revelations about his parents (were there any, Snape had yet to find them. Molly might be a bull in a china shop most of the time, but she was an honest bull, even as she broke the china). Or possibly about his brothers.

Snape smirked, the look on his face devoid of humor - his eyes cold and dark. That had possibilities, Snape thought, but Potter'd already seen how shiftless his friends could be. And... besides that, Snape couldn't see any possible reason why Potter'd pull punches about his friends' betrayal.* * It wasn't like it wouldn't be obvious in the morning - neither Potter nor his friends were accomplished liars, and it only took one side of a broken trust to see the breach.

No, no and no, Snape thought, considering. The Potters were dead, and the Dursleys couldn't possibly have caused this - they'd disappointed Potter too much and too early - any childhood need for approval had been promptly squashed. And the Dursleys' hadn't an owl to write Potter, besides. And if Potter was going to explode about James, he'd probably have done it last year. Might have done, even, Snape thought, _whatever_ had happened tonight had been something extreme. Potter's general bulldogged anger built out of frustration wouldn't have done this...

Snape stopped, cocked his head to one side, as if he was hearing something through the stone walls of the dungeon corridor. _Dumbledore... _the old goat had always seemed to have a great fondness for the young Potter. If Dumbledore had breathed an improper word, said something he damnedly shouldn't... Snape nodded slowly, his hands curling unnoticed into fists. _That, at least, would explain some reticence on Potter's part._ Snape took three deep breaths, reminding himself that this was all supposition, and perhaps even less than that.

As Snape's hands loosened, he strode toward his office, feeling on firmer ground. He would do as he usually did - watch and wait. There were times for decisive motion, but they were few and far between. Perhaps, though... Snape let half a hundred paths and thoughts swirl in his head as he neared his office door. _It was a good thing nobody dared read his mind,_ Snape thought with a hidden snarl, _They'd drown in the half-done plans and the myriad paths he considered to tread._

Harry Potter had waited, but he wasn't very good at waiting. So he'd been picking at something that he'd just realized was going on - Quiddich. Or, more properly, was not going on when it shoulda been. He'd forgotten, really, been quite distracted by... well, the rest of his life. But it was nearing the end of October, and he hadn't heard a peep about Quiddich from Ron Weasley. Well, not Hogwarts Quiddich at least. Chudley Cannons were a whole different story, but they were also the most losingest (is that a word?) team ever, so the general amusement was in "how did they lose this time?" Apart from Ron, everyone had nearly universally concluded that the Cannons could have Viktor Krum as Seeker, and the Irish Chasers, and STILL lose, somehow.

Harry hadn't questioned why he was up in the air, could just grab a broomstick and _go_. The pitch was generally reserved, and Harry knew that. But when he'd been out for a flight, it hadn't been about practice at all... just therapy. It was a queer thing, the ability to go up in the air and just let all his problems go away... Snape said he felt like that during a fight too, didn't he? Well, then it was the press of problems, NOW things to deal with. With Flight? It was all about not having any problems at all - flying came effortlessly to him, it always had. Oh, sure he could work up a sweat, but that was physical. Dancers would understand, he was sure of it - the physical demands came, but there was nearly no thought involved. Just motion.

Snape returned, and Harry's body moved to shoot to his feet. He suppressed that impulse, turning around to see Snape closing the door gently. Probably doesn't want to wake up the whole dungeon, Harry thought wryly, Though it is odd that he didn't come back through the floo. He hasn't barred Dumbledore from entering...?

Harry's eyes (and head) followed Snape as Snape moved towards his desk. Turning to face Harry, Snape said softly, "Take your time sorting through your own mind. But don't take too long,"

Snape's tone had turned grave at the last, and Harry looked questioningly at him. "The Dark Lord wants to know what was running through your head. I shall endeavor to prevent him from assigning that task to Bella," Snape chuckled mirthlessly, "When he wants craft and stealth, he assigns me the task, as he has done today. When he desires charm and deceit, he assigns Lu Malfoy. But when he wants blood and answers, he assigns Bella Black." _Nevermind that she was actually a Lestrange, huh? Somehow everyone insisted on using her maiden name._

Snape swallowed and continued, "Bella's idea of extracting information from you would be finding some of your friends to torture. And she hasn't been quite the same since Azkaban. She makes mistakes, now. Her use of torture is nowhere near as exact or precise as it used to be."

"Like the Longbottoms?" Harry asked.

Snape's piercing eyes seemed to look straight through Harry, "That was intentional. Bella despises being thwarted, and she had been given a task by Her Lord. She intended to make an example out of them."

"She really did, didn't she?" Harry said somberly.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not the example she thought." Snape said, leaving the words to percolate through Harry's head.

Harry thought back to a question he'd meant to ask Snape - and then promptly tried to talk himself out of asking (because he didn't want to spend more time with Snape). And then promptly decided to talk himself into asking, because 'acting normal' was the easiest way to convince Snape that nothing was truly wrong. And Potter wanted Snape looking at anyone but Harry at this point. Harry had a lot on his mind, after all. More people staring at him was not likely to help fix things. "Is that why you sprang that lesson on us today?"

"What makes you think I 'sprang' it on you?" Snape said softly, in that subtle suede tone he occasionally used.

"It would have made a great introduction, sir. You're quite notorious for yours, you realize?" Harry said dryly. The corners of Snape's mouth curled for a second at the compliment.

"And?" Snape prompted.

"If you had this on your mind at the beginning of the year, you'd have used it then." Harry said promptly.

Snape nodded, "I would have. Bella's taken to giving 'presents' to the Order, recently." Snape's tone told Harry that he'd better not ask how bad it was. "She's also taken to using the Cruciatus on new recruits who can't handle the gory parts." Snape's tone turned grimmer, as he said, "And, as I said, she's not as precise as she once was." That sounded melancholy, tinged with a bit of nostalgia. _The sound of someone who'd cared for her, once..._ "They deserve at least a chance to acclimate, wouldn't you say?" Snape's dark humor danced over his tongue.

"You'd know better than I would, sir." Harry said, mentally cursing his tongue. Why did I have to say that?

"You have two paths, from here forward, Potter." Snape said, as he stood and headed for the door, "You can attempt to be very small, and very boring, and hope to dwindle into unimportance in the mind of the Dark Lord." Snape turned and looked Potter in the eyes, "I trust you know what the other one is."

Potter's eyes widened, and he said grimly, without a smile on his face, "Path Gryffindor." Which was to say, that yes, he really could run up to Lord Voldemort and try and kill him. You know, without the prophecy, that obviously _wasn't_ about Harry Potter. He could do that. He _wasn't_ going to do that, not on your ruddy life, but he _could_. Snape, it appeared, would rather present a false choice instead of ordering him about. Well, Harry considered, maybe that hadn't gone so well in the past, had it? Harry suddenly remembered first year, and Minerva McGonagall telling them that the Stone was taken care of.

Snape nodded curtly, his hair falling into his face again, and he said, "We'd best be taking you to Gryffindor's Tower, shouldn't we? The time grows late." And Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out if Snape just meant the late hour, or if he was hinting at the larger walked in silence the many flights up, and Harry was still pondering that as the portrait swung shut behind him.

* * *

Snape turned, and headed downstairs, but not towards his own chambers. Instead, he turned towards the Headmaster's office, laying a subtle tripwire in a way that Dumbledore would probably not notice. It took a subtle mind to see a spell tuned to someone else's essence, after all. And this one would only tug at Snape if Potter passed the Gargoyle.

As Snape headed downstairs, he swiftly constructed a plausible reason for urgent discussions with Albus - the state of Zambini, Nott and Malfoy would always work. Dumbledore had no idea how closely he monitored his own House, so he'd think that Snape had newly acquired information on the three amigos. Nothing would be further from the case, but Snape needn't admit that...

* *Snape, you're being a blinded idiot.

*%*Play off shakespeare - "Oh what fools these mortals be."

*!* Beryl is the mineral. Emerald (and aquamarine) are the "precious" form. Never say that Snape actually refers to Potter as being _precious_.

*!*!* Not from sweetness, no. from the strain of grinding his teeth.

*~*Potter's actually got most of it down pat. He's missing waxy flexibility, but then again, that's not an always thing. Snape, as admitted above, is not an expert. He's just the closest person to the problem, and most _definitely not_ used to asking for help.

*#*James' map, in case that wasn't clear. And no, Snape didn't keep the "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" passphrase.

*!*Very, very dark. Just barely enough illumination to identify someone by. Like moonlight, except yellow not blue. Deliberately chosen to not startle someone clearly in some distress (or worse, blind them).

*black humor.

**like lye


	24. Been a long road to follow

Not that you could tell some days, but Harry Potter generally tried in all his classes. He tried to learn (though he'd never take as many notes as Hermione, nor ask as many questions). Magic was about motions, and how were you _supposed_ to draw those, anyway? Hermione had her system, but Harry was sure if he looked over at Chang, or Bones, or Nott, they'd have a different one. Harry tried to memorize more than write down things, anyway. He tended to learn better if he was watching and not writing.

Today? Today was a bloody different story.

He hadn't listened a whit to the teachers, nor to anyone at lunch, breakfast or dinner.

Is it odd, to have something you desperately need to look at, and yet know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he dared not even _think_ about it in class?

Yes, yes it was extremely odd.

Ron, Harry was pretty certain, had never felt this way. Harry was abruptly wondering if Ron could feel this way. Ron was a hothead, and even if he didn't want to talk about something, it was still pretty obvious. Harry began to think that maybe Ron couldn't move his mind off a subject... not even onto Quiddich.

The thing was, when you had something you couldn't think about... Harry'd let his mind latch onto the simplest, closest, purest things. Objects, colors. At breakfast he'd stared at Dumbledore's robe. In Transfiguration, he'd stared out the window and tried to count the leaves that he could barely see.

Nothing as open-ended as class.

Concrete.

Harry didn't want to go to their Defense group meeting. He really didn't want to. But his feet turned him that way anyway, and he began waving his wand, experimentally. "Expecto Patronum" he said, over and over again, letting himself be lost in the memories. He wasn't choosing them at random, either. He was letting memories from his youngest life come into his mind, drifting slowly towards the present day.

Nothing. Not a shred of silver, not a mist, not a sparkle.

Nott was inside, quietly sharing a book with Granger. Harry marveled, for a moment. Yesterday, Malfoy had nearly been ... well, Harry wasn't sure what... to get those books.

Today, Hermione was sharing without even a hint of a fight.

Harry went back to conjuring memories. He was curious to see if any of them would work. Any memory at all. And which would be his first, he wondered?

Why had he come, Harry thought to himself. It wasn't a good idea to be here, Harry knew, not in the state he was in.

Oh. He'd gone because if he didn't, someone would look for him.

Harry was abruptly dragged back to reality by the sounds of a rather large and impending argument.

It wasn't actually all that bad, Harry discovered, as he looked around. It just had the potential to get that way.

Danger senses tingling, Harry started listening, before the pitchforks came out.

"What happened?" Someone asked - hopefully not Smith, though it sounded like him. "Why are you getting along?" And that sounded like Goyle, speaking slow as ever, and thumping harder than usual. Harry stood, jumping up to see above Goyle's shoulder. Ron, of course.

Thankfully, Ron wasn't bright red and punching. He actually managed to look somber, which was a relief.

"Down, boys, down," Draco Malfoy drawled in that annoyingly unconcerned tone Harry hated, "Or are you really just beasts? If you want an explanation, it's forthcoming." As Goyle turned around to force people to give the two young men some space, Harry saw the look of confusion on Goyle's face. Which it, shamefully, took him about five seconds to get. Oh, that's right, he's not supposed to understand English, just the small words please.

Harry fingered his wand, wanting to be sure that if fighting broke out, it wouldn't be two against twenty. Nearby, he saw Theo and Hermione both ready - Theo with his hand half up his sleeve, in a gesture that seemed purely Snape (Harry abruptly wondered if the man had taught it to his Slytherins. If so, Malfoy hadn't paid any attention whatsoever.), and Hermione's wand, well, from the way her hair was sparking, it might not matter where it was, so Harry stopped looking for it. He hoped Neville and Luna were ready too.

Ron was speaking, somehow first - had Draco really yielded the floor? It'd make Draco sound all the better, letting Ron's stuttering go first... "You don't think, when you're eleven, exactly why your parents say someone's bad. Evil. Scary. Whatever." Ron looked around the room, and then did the utterly unexpected, "Who here, at the tender age of eleven, actually knew why they were afraid of Lord V?" Feet shifted uneasily around the room. "See? Your parents told you, and that was that." Ron said, in an unexpected burst of humility, "I still don't know. But I know people who do." Ron's eyes sought out Neville, and then Harry. Ron's bold tone lowered, got a bit more somber, as he tilted his head up, deliberately looking above everyone's heads, "Maybe more than I think."

"It was stupid," Ron said, "That's all I can figure. Parents telling kids that someone's bound to be evil, just because of what House they were from." Ron nodded, "It wasn't just Malfoy. I heard it about everyone. Nasty slimy sneaky Slytherins."

Smirking, Draco Malfoy stood up, "We are sneaky. And sly. And if we don't know what you're going to do before you do it, then something's gone horribly wrong."

"I think you forgot smug!" Neville shouted out.

"And Arrogant!" Potter found his own voice adding.

"That too, although you're the one who catches the Snitch." Draco Malfoy bowed to the crowd, "See? I can admit that I'm not the best." He smiled as if this was some sort of personal victory, which Harry doubted, until he realized that wasn't why Draco was smiling. He liked the crowd... more specifically, the crowd's approval. "At age eleven, I'd heard nasty snide things my father said about the Weasleys. Didn't matter, I was going to school with him whether he was poor or not, wasn't I? But I didn't like it when my second cousin decided he'd rather be friends with Ron Weasley instead of me. No, it didn't take my parents wisdom to make eleven year old me certain WeaselKing was evil." Draco Malfoy smirked. "Seems silly now, doesn't it?" The crowd laughed - seemingly having forgotten the entire unpleasantness. "Now that Granger's been willing to cede the books, I've got a fascinating lesson in store for you..." The crowd groaned, as Malfoy had used the precise intonation Hermione would use for interesting.

Harry lost himself in the motions, hanging out towards the back and letting people's movements and the lesson wash over him completely. He'd have to catch up later, he thought without a trace of chagrin. He wouldn't have been there at all, except that his friends would hunt him out if he wasn't.

Harry was finally, finally alone. He exulted in it, dancing barefoot on top of the Astronomy Tower. The wind snapped at his hair, tossling it beyond recognition (not that it was all that good in the first place). He grabbed onto the railing, leaning out over the edge, and closing his eyes.

It was almost like flying, being up here, all alone. Freedom. _In the desert, you can remember your name, for there ain't no one for to give you no shame._

Harry could hear the strains of the music, and he let himself just be. In the cold scottish autumn, he could feel the press of the sun on his face, and feel the horse surging under his hips, rocking him to lazy sleep. He let himself draw to a fragile stillness.

_I hope this works..._

He opened his mouth, and began to sing, trying to immerse himself into the song.

_Been a long road to follow, been there and gone tomorrow_

_Without saying goodbye to yesterday._

Harry found himself, in his imagination alone, looking into Snape's face. He'd never _really_ said goodbye, had he? Not to anything, not really. Clinging to hatreds... and _friendships_? Stuck in that unimaginable inbetween where everyone he ever knew was on one side of pain or another.

_Are the memories I hold still valid?_

_Or have the tears diluted them?_

Harry was certain that he'd heard Snape talking about his mother, over the summer. Not just once, either. Mentioned _fondly_.

It seemed odd to think of Severus Snape as having anyone he considered a friend, let alone Harry's Mum.

_maybe this time tomorrow_  
_the rain will cease to follow_  
_and the mist will fade into_  
_one more today_

If there was one person Harry wasn't annoyed with not telling him this, it was probably Severus Snape. Harry well knew that would sound odd if he tried to explain it to Ron or Hermione. They'd look at him like he was crazy. It's just - some people wore their hearts on their sleeves. Snape had worn a black hole instead, a great big sign saying "Secrets, Do not wake the sleeping Dragon!" Harry thought, _I mean, seriously. The idea that Snape would..._

And, abruptly, reality caught up to Harry. Because he suddenly understood that this wasn't just a secret, but a SECRET, and one that Snape the Death Eater probably had a number of reasons to not want to be known.

Shite. Harry was in _deep_ shite.

Harry felt the panic trying to crawl out of his belly and into his brain. It was a familiar feeling, and he hated it.

But, just about now, the feeling was feeding itself, feeding his fear.

Lord Voldemort might hear.

Harry slammed his eyelids shut, and breathed in and out, slowly. He felt the wind on his arms, and thanked his good sense that he'd known to find a good place for this. He clung to the feelings, to the hard stone under his bum, to the wind and the chill, and the shiver he was holding back. Just be there, listening, an open jug filling with sensation.

Safety was solitude. Peace and contentment.

Harry wished he'd brought his Map. He could watch Snape (and Malfoy), and at least somewhat reassure himself that he hadn't... False reassurance. Harry didn't want to cling to lies, so he brought that comforting thought to a cold stop.

Taking another deep breath, Harry opened his eyes again. The fear was still there, but it wasn't growing and filling his thoughts. A sort of trepidation, just on the edge of his senses. That was good, it would keep him sharp.

Harry was going to deal with this, really he was.

Just not right now.

Taking another deep breath, he thought back...

_something somewhere out there keeps calling..._

Harry's eyes slid shut again, feeling the wind ruffling his perpetually unkempt hair. He imagined his mum ruffling her fingers through his hair. It felt warm, content. Was this what it felt like, to be loved? Harry really wasn't sure. He'd never had a real family, and the Weasleys would say they loved him (except Ron, who'd manage something unbelievably awkward to avoid saying that exact phrase, and then give him a hug that meant the same thing. And the twins would be unbelievably matter-of-fact about it, as if Harry ought to know that like he knew the sky was blue).

There was always a certain restlessness in him, as if the wind itself was tugging his feet along, promising something that he'd find somewhere else. It had to be from growing up with the Dursleys... Still... he hadn't found it at Hogwarts, not for all the friendships in the world. There was a sense of belonging, true, but it was an impersonal one.

In. Out, Harry breathed, stilling himself into thinking, "Mum? Da? Are you watching me? Are you proud of me?"

All he felt was the wind on his hair, the crisp chillness a sharp contrast to the desired warm breath on his cheek.

He'd known his parents in fragments - at first only the light, but he could see the dark too. What he was missing was the in-betweens. He knew how Hermione looked when she was studying furiously - or the look on Ron's face as he concentrated on chess. The small, unimportant things.

Maybe, someday, he could ask.

_am i going home?_

Hogwarts was the closest thing he'd had to a home, but it wasn't really a home, it was a school. And schools had mean and arbitrary rules just for the doing of it. It wasn't a warm, homey sort of place, even. You didn't even have your own bedroom. And, besides, he'd had too many near-death encounters to feel truly safe here. He opened his eyes, staring into the distance, trying to see a candle burning in a window... Harry's mind queried, Are my parents waiting up for me? Did they leave a light on, just for me? And if I see them, what sort of a story could I even tell? I know Hermione doesn't tell her parents everything - they'd have _killed_ her, for some of the stunts we've pulled. Not that the Dursleys would care.

_will i hear someone singing solace to the silent moon?_

First year, Harry had loved Astronomy class - it had been the first time he'd seen the moon and stars. He loved the moon most when it was barely a sickle, the moon he'd seen morning and night, as he worked on Aunt Petunia's roses. It had lent a bit of consistency to being at class at midnight. Now, he looked up, wondering if the moon had seen his parents sharing a kiss beneath it. Did it mourn? And if so, what did it mourn? Or did it suffer the pangs of longing? Harry vaguely recalled a myth about that...

_zero gravity what's it like?_

It was just so easy to disconnect. To say _to hell_ with the world at large, and just float away. The world had wanted him dead for years, and hadn't cared boo about the prophecy, had it? Harry let out a twisted, cackling laugh, like rustling fallen leaves. The world still wanted him dead, if on less of a Very Personal level.

It was a fond thought, just letting go - anywhere but bonnie jolly good England, he could really be Just Harry. He wouldn't, couldn't do it, he knew that, firmly in his belly (well below his heart, that wanted to just float away). No, it was a grande thought, but not one he'd be taking.

I love you, Harry said to the wind, testing the words.

Harry stood on the tower longer than he'd care to admit, as the wind grew colder and stronger. His hands gripped the railing at the edge, and all that echoed through his mind was -

_am I alone?_

In some sense,he really was. He'd heard a teacher once say that you weer always alone when you went to meet your Maker, and at this very moment well, he felt just as alone. People liked to pray to God, but Harry'd always felt that was a little bit big for your britches. He was thankful, true, to be here. But...

Why was he here?

At some point, answers to questions like that had seemed silly. He'd been a student, and the answer was plain: He was here to learn. But, Harry thought, I'm not just a student anymore, am i? Someone decided to make me into a symbol, entirely without my consent - and when I was far too young to object anyhow.

There was a certain loneliness in that sentiment, along with a sudden understanding. Wizarding Britain had eaten the stories up, because they were afraid. Like he was, right now. Harry'd known for years that fear wasn't the worst thing - it had kept him safe from Dudley loads of times, after all. But, now he was starting to think, pretending you weren't afraid was worse.

Harry didn't want to be alone.

But since when had the universe ever listened to ickle little Harry, smallest in the class? He wanted to blame Dudley, but really couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Dudley had been five or six the first time he'd beat up Harry - that was a time when plenty of kids in school were rough and tumble, and where teachers intervened. It wasn't Dudley's fault the Dursleys had encouraged him.

And, truly, Dudley hadn't ever gone after anyone except Harry.

Not that this would stop Harry from punching Dudley's face in, if he ever got the chance. Sometimes you needed to use a bit of force to make a lesson stick.

Harry shook himself, cross at his own angst. He had friends, teachers who cared, even the Weasleys would look out for him - in mass if needed. All he needed to do was imagine Hermione's smile - and that dogged look on Ron's face. Even Neville and Luna, who'd run off to the Ministry with him.

Allies. Friends.

They might not be the familial bonds he wished, but he insisted, loudly, to that tiny portion of his shuttered mind, that he wasn't alone.

Harry let the wind sing to him, let it tell him strange tales of faraway lands, and through those unseen colors, he heard:

_is somebody there beyond_  
_these heavy aching feet_

He was a soldier. He'd been in battle more than once. But it wasn't the thrillyfear and battlerage that bore down on him. It was the weight of everyone's expectations - now lessened, but only somewhat.

People didn't see him. They saw The Chosen One. They saw Harry the Hero.

Well, he'd give them what they wanted, and burn the prophecy to boot. But, all in all, it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was to have someone, some place to come home to.

To have someone waiting for him, leaving the light on.

He knew his friends would be charging with him into battle - they were Gryffindors, it would be base treachery to consider them doing aught else. And, assuming they won, he'd feel the swell of good cheer and cameraderie, same as anyone else, he figured.

But that wasn't what he wanted.

At the end of it all, when all the battles were won, Harry just wanted a hug.

Harry wanted someone who'd waited, who'd trusted in him enough to take care of himself, at least. Someone who'd cared enough to wait up and worry. He didn't want parents like Molly and Arthur Weasley, who'd run into battle to protect their kids. He wanted parents that were proud of him, proud enough to trust - and worry.

They might not manage to win this war, Harry knew that, sure as his heart still beat. But just as surely, he knew he wasn't going to get what he wanted, either.

_still the road keeps on telling me to go on_

Harry's feet ached, sure, and sometimes moving forward was hard. He wasn't deluded enough to want to charge into battle, but... you moved, you followed orders. And you hoped that there was something better beyond the next hill. The next objective, the next goal.

Harry's eyes closed. He wanted to remember this feeling of hopefulness, this idea that there will be something waiting, at the end of it all. In and out he breathed, letting the feeling settle into his creaky bones, his weary muscles, everything. Things would get better. They had to.

Harry felt this way, sure as Sunday, even though his gut told him things would get worse before then.

He had to hold onto this feeling, remind himself of it. Because he couldn't quite quelch the picture in his mind, of one of the witches in his DADA class, dead in his arms, tears flowing down his face.

You do what you can, Harry thought with an unexpected surge of determination. That's all. Can't blame yourself for everything, or you won't go on.

_something is pulling me i feel the gravity of it all_

Somehow, first year, it hadn't seemed to be such a big deal. Of course, it hadn't been a war then either, just a troll. And a disembodied Dark Lord.

Just.

Harry Potter was going to stand, he told himself firmly. No matter what, no matter who died.

Because there were things worth fighting for.

Idly, grimly, whimsically, he conjured one of Hermione's bluebell flames, letting it dance around the Astronomy tower, letting himself grow still as he watched it dance.

He hadn't resolved anything tonight, but somehow he'd abjured depression. If false hope and lies got him through to the endless beyond, well, at least he'd be there.

You know, after the war.

When Harry was done meditating, he left for the Gryffindor common room. It was beyond late, the moon had set, and... Hermione was still awake. Harry saw this with a mental sigh as he stepped into the room. He really didn't need any more shite.

"Sit down, Harry," Hermione said, in a tone that would not brook defiance.

"Okay," Harry said, sitting on the other side of the couch and turning to face his friend. He really just wanted some sleep. Well, that and time to unravel everything he was thinking. Abruptly, the idea that he'd thought of so many things at once that Lord Voldemort had gotten concerned was completely hilarious, so of course he started laughing.

Hermione was not amused. Frowning, she looked at him, looking him over twice. As his laughter died down to short gasps, Hermione said simply, "Maybe we should deal with this in the morning."

Good advice.

/~~~~~~~~/

Harry spent the next day completely focused on class, which was probably a good thing, considering he had Snape's class. Focus was hard to find, true, but once found, he walled himself off, as if he was in his closet again, and the outside world seemed so very far away, and definitely not worth thinking about. Find the exact motion in Transfiguration, the exact word in Charms.

Snape's class, as usual, was livelier than it had any right to be. Harry didn't know another class where the students showed up - and then glanced warily around the room, afraid to even gossip or talk to their neighbor. Snape hadn't pulled that trick yet, but Harry figured it would show up sooner or later. Possibly the day after Easter Sunday, just as a brutal reminder that sleep-deprivation isn't an excuse for letting down your guard.

When Snape strode into the room, Harry and Hermione and Ron looked at him, their bodies wheeling as he went towards the podium, "Portion yourself into groups." He said, and Harry saw the suppressed amusement in Snape's face as the students rapidly tried to calculate what the next groupings would be for. Hermione grabbed Ron and Harry, and - when Harry turned to her questioningly, responded, "At least we'll be in it together." Harry smiled a thanks back at her, and was gladdened, briefly, that she wasn't so mad at him (for whatever it was) that she would deviate from her normal behavior.

Of course, everyone said it was Harry who sulked - and they were right. Harry tended to sulk because he hated hurting people - and he'd rather demolish a metal suit of armor than hurt his friends, even with just words.

Almost without warning - and that was almost, the class had split into four groups. Harry's group had Hermione and Ron, of course, and - oddly enough - Malfoy, Nott and Zambini. Which was all to the good, as Harry really didn't want to try and figure out who was whom (surely they wouldn't be stupid enough to trade in Snape's class?).

Snape nodded crisply, before Harry'd really had time to notice more than most of the Hufflepuffs were together in one of the other groups, "Malfoy's group, to me." The group looked at each other, even as they started following Snape out of the classroom. Idly, Harry thumbed his wand up his sleeve. Then he realized that doing so had encouraged Nott to do the same thing. Harry sent a frustrated glare at the boy, who gave an exasperated smirk back, as if to say _What did you expect me to do?_

Up they went. Across the school and back again. Harry knew before they were there, that they were headed towards the 7th floor. The room of requirement.

Lovely. That meant Snape had something interesting planned.

The door opened into a green room, and Snape spat, "Line up. You'll be doing this one by one, with special instructions from me before you begin." Now everyone had their wands in their hands (as they were clearly in some sort of classroom.)

"Who's first?" Snape asked, his cruel lips quirking up.

"Me," Ron Weasley said, standing out of the crowd. Snape nodded, and said, "Follow me." Ron and Snape disappeared through a door.

The room was quiet. Quieter than quiet, as everyone tried to think what Snape was doing. Why the four groups? Well, that's what Harry figured everyone was thinking about. Hermione might just be preparing. And Zambini might be trying to find a way to flirt with Su Li, the quiet girl in their midst. Harry was mostly focused on not thinking about anything at all. It was too crowded in here to decompress.

Besides, Harry felt confident that he could take on whatever Snape threw at him.

Su tried to ask something of Nott, who shushed her, saying, "He's listening. Assume he's listening." After that, even Hermione didn't want to ask anything.

/^^^^^^/

Ron stumbled out with his robes half torn - a good swathe of his flank was showing, as was a bloody wound on his shoulder that seeped.

"Next," Snape said, ignoring Hermione's jut of the jaw.

"Hospital wing, Professor Snape?" Hermione spat, quicker than anyone could think to volunteer.

"Not that badly injured, Granger. Take care of your own." Snape executed a short bow, as if to say she was capable of it. "Or let him bleed. I do not care." The room paused a beat to let that sink in.

Then Zambini spoke up. "I'll go calm it down," Zambini said with a fluid smile, white teeth glistening between his dark red lips.

Cockiness was always a choice, Draco Malfoy thought. His instincts were screaming at him to let someone else go. And so he would. He wouldn't be cocky - that could get you killed, if you had a Slytherin for a teacher. Draco wouldn't put it past Snape to let someone die - or as good as. Cancel that, Draco thought crossly, I wouldn't put it past him to deliberately maim some of these idiots. And then call himself a hero for taking them out of the war. Because it wouldn't be Snape without having at least two ulterior motives.

Draco was surprised, however, that Potter hadn't gone first. That he... seemed about as wary as a cat in a room of rocking chairs. In fact... he had some of that wary stillness that...

No, that was truly odd. But Draco needed to keep his mind on the problem - and that was why Ronald Weasley had suddenly developed the ability to keep his knowledge to himself.

"That broke you up good, didn't it?" Draco Malfoy said, swaggering over. Information was as good as gold, at school at least.

Ron smiled, that big goofy warm smile, and said, "Suppose so."

"Did you forget to duck?" Draco Malfoy smirked, his condescension plain on his face.

"Something like that," Ron said. "You'll see in a bit."

"Unless he's doing something different for each person," Nott chimed in.

"Sounds like him, doesn't it?" Zambini gave one of his warm grins. All that was missing was Pansy trying to charm the thoughts right out of Ron's head by making him into her latest boytoy. Draco suddenly found himself wishing time would turn backward... wishing for a lot of things he couldn't have.

"What was it, Ron?" Harry said baldly - the flash of Gryffindor gold slipping straight through the Slytherin silver-and-green. And just as blunt and straightforward.

"Haven't you realized he's not going to tell you?" Su Li asked, the quiet Ravenclaw suddenly splitting the group with the force of her presence. Ravenclaws were like that, liked to be small as a mouse, until you tended to forget they had wings.

"Had to try," Malfoy said simply, "Might've worked anyhow."

"Really?" Su Li asked, cocking her head and trilling a giggle. "You'd have to be twice as subtle as you think you are, to pick up the pieces." Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Li, more curious than disdainful, asking her to continue because he knew that pause. Su Li turned to Ron, and asked, "Truth-sworn, aren't you?"

Ron blinked, and gulped, and then said, slowly, "Yes... but not for this. I could tell you - but you'll!" Ron's face fought to turn purple. "You have to see for yourself!" Ron gave that goofy grin that Draco suddenly (and unexpectedly) wanted to break into a thousand pieces.

"Thanks, Weasel," Draco spat, and strutted off, determined not to show his disappointment. Ron smirked at Draco's disappearing back, as Harry Potter's green eyes flicked rapidly between them.

Zambini exited without saying a word, simply leaning casually against the wall near the door.

"Next?" called Snape, and the room shuffled. Well, most of it, anyway. Nott, Malfoy and Harry Potter were quiet.

"I'll go," Hermione Granger said boldly, and Snape felt the undercurrent of fear that she refused to feed.

Stepping into the next room, Snape led Hermione Granger, "Wands out, do your best, until death do you part."

Foolishly, Hermione Granger sharply looked at Snape, who was busy disappearing into the shadows, so all she saw was his face.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in." Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, "All gone and muddy, little library mouse."

Hermione Granger's eyes seemed to spark, and - clad in darkness, Snape allowed himself a brief smile, "This mouse tires of mazes." As Granger began to speak, she'd begun to cast, and Draco Malfoy seemed to waver a moment, before solidifying again.

"Tricks? An Illusion may I be, yet still I'll make you bleed." Draco Malfoy said smugly, sending out a crackling firespell that Hermione threw up a hasty shield to avoid.

"Oh, you'll have to do harder than that."

"I intend to."

Snape watched the rest of the battle with sharpened eyes. Granger was still pulling her punches, but it was in an odd way. She was avoiding anything that might be illegal. Not Dark, mind, just illegal. The spells she did use, hit center of mass reliably. Moody had trained her well.

Granger tried a bodybind, and Snape nearly cursed with frustration - before seeing the cutting spell that she sent after. Malfoy had rolled away, of course, but it was the thought that count.

Granger finally dealt the final blow, sending him down onto a bed of roses, that she'd transfigured, thorn by rose, throughout the fight... and then splashed a paralytic poison on.

"Every rose has its thorn." Granger said primly, and then turned towards Snape and bowed, "Am I done, sir, or must we wait until he succumbs?"

Snape emerged, eyes flashing, commenting wryly, "You'd be waiting until eternity itself ended."

Hermione Granger's mouth twitched, as if she was afraid to laugh at Snape's wit. Well and good, it would be good if she could learn to be a little more a mouse and less a lion.

"Not a word to anyone." Snape said sternly.

"Of course not sir," Hermione Granger said, putting every inch of "I Don't Cheat on Tests" into her voice, belying the wanton child she really was.

Harry didn't even wait until Snape called the next person. "And?" he said, rushing over to Hermione.

"And _nothing_," Hermione Granger said primly. Ron was chuckling somewhere being Harry.

Goyle had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and was heading into the other room.

Harry felt the burn of curiosity, wanting to peek over Goyle's shoulder (a hopeless task, Harry was over a head shorter than Goyle).

Goyle came out sporting enough small wounds that three of the Slytherins were casting on him just as soon as he came out. Of course, he also sported a goofy grin. "Why do you always do this?" Malfoy hissed, low enough that had Harry not been close, he wouldn't have heard at all. Goyle just shrugged.

Su Li stepped in next, and came out speaking in tongues. Snape, merciful Snape, said merely, "It will wear off before the end of class." And then Nott stepped through the door.

That left Harry and Malfoy, exchanging awkward looks.

"Duel for it?" Malfoy asked, smirking a crooked grin.

"In class? And without supervision?" Harry said, noting that the Slytherins were already forming a ring around them.

"Scared?" Malfoy boldly sneered.

"As if!" Harry said, smirking. "You know, I've learned a few things about duels since the last time you challenged me to one." Draco Malfoy smirked, and Harry could tell he was remembering that petty victory with pride. "For one thing, I've learned that the challenged gets to set the challenge."

Harry Potter closed his eyes, and asked the Room very, very nicely. He required two large circles of wood.

"Here you go," Harry said, passing Malfoy one of the beech circles.

"What?" Malfoy asked quietly, hating to be put on the spot.

"Oh. Forgot you don't know how." Harry said, "Hermione, will you demonstrate?"

Hermione gave one of her startlingly fiery grins, "Gladly," she said, seizing the circle out of his hand. With a careful flickup of the wrist, she swung the circle over her head, and around her waist.

And then she gave the hoop a whirl, and started to shake her hips. In a way, it looked like she was defying gravity, holding a hoop up with just the sway of her hips. Harry's careful eye glanced at Malfoy, who seemed a bit more interested in her hips than the hoop.

"Are we clear?" Hermione said brightly, grabbing the hoop and handing it off to Harry.

"Ten paces?" Malfoy asked, smirking.

"This isn't that kind of challenge." Harry said sternly. "Whoever's hoop hits the floor first is the loser. And has to go in first."

"Who'll start the count?" Malfoy asked, and before a skirmish could break out-

Su Li responded, "I shall." To the startled looks of practically everyone around her, "I wouldn't trust the rest of you to remember all the numbers."

People laughed, and she began to count.

Harry closed his eyes, for just a moment, and at the "Go!" they flew open. He was watching the hoop, timing his rhythm. In fact, he was watching himself so closely, that he didn't notice the door open.

Unfortunately for Malfoy, he had noticed the door opening, and at the dark scowl on Snape's face, had entirely forgotten to dance.

Snape sneered at both of them, and then stated simply, "Goofing around will not be tolerated in my class. Who's next."

"That would be me, sir," Draco Malfoy said, doing his best smarmy courtesy - which, as Malfoy wasn't a terribly respectful person, always seemed entirely faked to Harry.

Snape exited the room with Draco Malfoy, his grumbling voice audible to the entire room as he groused, "I turn my back on you for one second..."

Then the door was closed, and Harry Potter was the only one in the room who didn't know what was going on. "Oh, come on! Tell me!" he wanted to say, but the resolute looks on everyone's face...

Harry had a sudden idea, throwing an arm around Su Li's shoulders, "Su, su, su - what's Snape up to?"

Su blushed, which was a pretty look on her wheat-colored skin. "I can't tell you..."

Harry spun around the room, generally making a pest of himself. Of course, since no one had anything better to do (other than Hermione, who'd started on History Homework), they wound up watching him.

"Take the gloves off," Snape snarled, stepping back into the shadows. Draco Malfoy saw ... Harry Potter appear in the light mist in front of him.

Harry hollered, "Expe-"

Draco elected not to listen to the rest of that, rolling his way out of the line of the spell. Not seeing any cover, Draco started making some, transfiguring rocks and bushes out of the ground beneath them.

Potter wasn't trying to hide, he was casting, over and over again - cutting curse, Bombarda (that hurt, the rocks exploded, sending rocky shrapnel into Draco's leg).

Behind a rock, Draco cast the stinging hex, watching Potter dodge.

"Is that all you got, Drakey-boy?" 'Potter' called, and Draco Malfoy rapidly started to reevaluate. This clearly wasn't Potter, he wasn't clever enough to come up with that nickname, and wouldn't bother using a nickname someone else had come up with.

"Flippendo," Draco Malfoy tried, and then, in a split second, transfigured two mirrors flanking 'Potter'.

"Avada Kedavra," Draco Malfoy cast, the green curse rebounding from one mirror to the other, hitting Potter on the third bounce, when he was in the middle of jousting with Malfoy about his lack of aim.

"Well done," Snape said softly, and Draco wondered if he'd imagined the cast of disappointment on his face. Probably not. He'd known Snape since he was very young, after all.

No one else had cottoned on, Harry was Pretty Sure. He was actually feeling a bit nervous, but he hated feeling nervous, so he was taking it out by trying to wheedle information out of everyone. By the time Snape and Malfoy had come back, Ron was laughing, Hermione had hexed him (lightly!), Su Li was bright red, and Zambini was winking at him (Uh..?).

"My turn!" Harry said brightly, drawing his wand.

Snape nodded genteely, and turned around, holding the door open so that Potter could enter first. "Where is your wand, Potter?" Snape snapped, "Don't hold back."

With gritted teeth, Harry gave a grim nod. He says to not hold back, but in nearly the same breath, use my wand.

Hermione Granger, her bright eyes fierce, faded into view, the fog blowing away. Hermione's good at long range spells, Harry thought, but her accuracy is unparalleled.

Harry stepped to the side, casting a duplication spell. With this flat ground, the duplicates would seem to act just the same as Harry. It would look odd if they ran through rocks or trees, but here...

"Try again," Hermione smirked, circular stones appearing all around her.

Shite, Harry thought, this was getting bad fast. Snape was right - it was time to cheat.

Harry didn't cast a spell with his wand, instead, he leapt forward, desperate to close the distance. Hermione wasn't as strong as he was, physically, and she had all the advantages if he kept his distance.

So he charged, but not like a bull. No, he leapt like a jackrabbit, left and then right. But he used a thin tendril of magic, to balance his feet and send him just a bit farther, just a bit less far. Jigging it, so he was harder to hit, and, using it just enough to circle around Hermione a bit. Hermione sent stinging hex after stinging hex at him, and as he slid to a jerky halt, Harry cast a full protego.

And then Harry jumped, taking his ball down on top of Hermione Granger, crumpling her underneath it. Efficiently, he cast a full body bind, and then wrapped an arm around her jugular.

"I win. Call it." Harry said, not wanting Hermione to lose consciousness.

"The fight's done," Snape acknowledged, as was typical, avoiding mentioning who'd won, even though it was bloody obvious.

Harry'd take it as a win that Snape wasn't rebuking him for his use of wandless, wordless magic.

Snape strode out of the auxilliary room, saying, "I trust you can refrain from any... competitions until I get back?" Without waiting for a response, Snape strode out of the room.

Malfoy, with that smarmy grin, remarked, "I didn't realize Muggles knew how to hoopdance."

Harry must have given it away with his face, because suddenly Ron was laughing, "Oh! He thought that was just a Muggle thing!"

And suddenly the whole room was laughing.

"A galleon this is to teach us how to murder each other," Harry said, smiling mirthlessly. Snape's class had been enough to distract him from things he Wasn't To Think About until later in the evening; but, Harry hated the standing about.

"Bit steep for betting, isn't it, Harry?" Ron asked, and they both knew that he didn't have a galleon to spare.

"Oh, that's not the opening bid. You can bid a knut for all I care. Whoever's right wins the pot." Harry said.

Draco Malfoy said, "Five galleons on reaction time."

Hermione Granger said, "A sickle on offense makes the best defense."

"So unconfident, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"No. It's what's in my pocket right now, and I suspect we'll want the pool handled as soon as possible."

Nott snorted, "As if we're going to be paying up while Snape's watching us. Ten galleons on trying to get us to kill each other." Around him, plenty of people exchanged glances. Harry could see the glances, but wasn't quite sure what they meant.

"A knut on how to bleed," Ron said, smiling that goofy grin.

Goyle, for once covering for Ron's poverty, said, "Another on how not to bleed. You always did like hard knocks, Weasel." Ron gave a good-humored smile back at Goyle.

Su Li for her part looked lost, sniffing out a "I don't believe you're betting on lessons..."

"Why shouldn't we?" Harry said, "Snape means for us to be thinking, and this just means we'll think better for the stakes."

Harry smirked as the rest of Snape's class (the entire year of students) filed quietly into the Room. Unnaturally so. Apparently there was nothing so quiet as students trying to avoid Snape's wrath. Were it any other teacher, the students would be whispering to each other, or giggling, or even elbowing each other.

Snape must have done something, Harry thought, but he rather thought it was Snape's personality and scowls that had everyone so quiet.

Luckily, they had stopped taking bets moments before Snape had walked thorough the door. Zambini, the last to bet, seemed to be trying to turn pale, which, given his dark skin, would have been quite the miracle.

Harry blinked as Snape entered the room. The room itself seemed to waver, and then seats sprang up all around them. "Sit down," Snape growled, and everyone hopped to a seat. The way the room was situated, the quarter of the students who had been here first were seated in the back.

"Who wants to go first?" Snape asked, his tone sharp. It was as if he wanted to ask for a fool - who would volunteer to go first, carte blanche? Not knowing a damn thing about what Snape was about to ask for? Arrogance or sheer stupidity.

Or, in this case, a combination of both. Zach Smith stood up and said, "I'll go first, if no one else wants it." At least he had some understanding of what he was diving into, Harry thought with a grin.

"A Running Report, if you will." Snape said, casually - no, smugly, leaning against the wall. And he started the projector. Harry had no idea how this worked, still, but it allowed the entire room to see a magical movie.

Draco Malfoy, in living color - well, as much as you expected from the albino at least - appeared on the screen. Snape, in his usual intimidating fashion, said, "Take no prisoners." and then promptly faded into the surrounding darkness.

The camera zoomed out, and showed, from behind Draco, Harry Potter emerging in front of Draco. Draco barred his teeth in a snarl, and immediately shot out an Avada Kedavra, rolling even as he cast it. The Harry Potter dodged it neatly, but the second Avada Kedavra, brilliant emerald green like his eyes, hit him straight. He fell to the ground, unmoving.

"Too offensive. Perhaps appropriate for the assignment. But you can't expect to win by simply using your most powerful spells either. You win, first and foremost, by not losing. Malfoy left himself too open, as did Potter in this one." Zach looked at Snape, and said, officiously, "Next."

Snape sneered back, but continued.

Theo Nott was the next person on screen, and this was more of a fight. Pansy parkinson stood there, well, for a moment, at least. Then she was wind, light and agile - her spells quick and cutting.

Theo... Theo didn't shield. He ducked, and then sent a spell through a stone. _How did that not bounce?_ Harry thought, and then frowned. Something... something wasn't right here. Harry's eyes ran across the crowd, looking to see if anyone else was... bothered by this. No one looked bothered, Harry had to admit, though honesty with the Slytherins, he'd have been surprised if they'd _looked_ bothered.

Zach said simply, "Immobilization might have worked better, or..."

"Tar," Harry whispered, not meaning to overrun Zach's contribution.

"Potter," Snape snapped, "is there something you which to share with the class?"

"Tar," Harry said, just barely catching himself from saying sir. He really couldn't say whether it was a bad sign or a good one that calling Snape sir was becoming automatic. "Something sticky to immobilize - and tricky to dodge. Hot if possible, would burn quite nicely. And it doesn't wash off."

From off to his right, and nearly behind him, Lavender and Parvati were raising their eyebrows at each other. Harry noticed, turning towards them and saying, "It's war. All the way means hit 'em as hard as you can. And an Avada Kedavra isn't any good if you can't hit them."

"Continue," Snape said, which - coming from him, mind,- was high praise. Nothing to correct, at least.

Goyle was up next, and it was almost as if he'd forgotten his wand. Hagrid was his opponent, and from the instant Goyle decided to bum rush Hagrid, Harry had understood why it had to be Hagrid. Imagine if Snape had let him bumrush pretty little Tracey Davis. That was just not _on_. Hagrid was casting slicing hexes but Goyle let them hit him, choosing to sacrifice some blood to clobber Hagrid like a giant's fist. Goyle took Hagrid down with him, Hagrid, however, just laughed, rolling onto Goyle, who wasn't resisting. And then Harry saw the rock, his breath pausing as Goyle slammed it into Hagrid's face again and again.

"Stupid, brainless imbecile." Draco Malfoy muttered, and Harry belatedly realized that Malfoy wanted to be overheard. Goyle was better than that with spells.

"Crude, but effective," Zach said at last, the violence having made him pale. "Still, quicker would work a lot better. Never can tell when someone's got a partner."

Snape's dark eyes flickered across the room, staring at the odd person in the crowd. Harry nodded silently, Snape's actions confirming his conclusion.

Zach continued to plough on, but Harry's mind wasn't on Zach. Or, for that matter, on the screen, nevermind that Harry realized he might pay for that later. Trust Snape to expect everyone to not only have eyes in the back of their heads, but to be able to see out of them too! Harry was concentrating on the small motions, on those little movements you don't realize you're making.

Someone else knew. He wasn't the first. Slytherins on screen, Harry thought, They've got to know. Harry's bright eyes turned to the Slytherin contingent. Oh they knew better than to gather together. Like snakes, they each sought their own den, twining together with a friend or two. Potter's eyes found Crabbe, and he wondered if he knew. Harry focused on him, for lack of a better word, as Zambini showed his face on screen. Harry nodded, gently considering... _I think he knows._

The Slytherin girls didn't look like they knew... although Pansy seemed to feel that _something_ was wrong. She had that look of a deaf dog, knowing that everyone else was hearing something really interesting, and yet unable to hear. Were she really a dog, she'd be waggling her tail to get someone, anyone to tell her the news.

Hermione hadn't noticed a thing, not that it was surprising, with how many notes she was taking. Harry didn't envy her the revising...

Oh, Joy, Gryffindor Time, Harry thought dryly. Oddly enough, it wasn't him first - it was Ron, using some of those oddball skills he'd learned over the summer. Flip chop dice, break. It seemed like he'd just been learning his Mum's kitchen spells! Harry wanted to sputter in laughter at the thought. His mood swiftly darkened, as he viciously thought, Oh, sure, I'm not allowed to use what I've learnt, but Ron's allowed to!

Harry let the rage fade back into the shadows of his mind (the back of his mind was getting kinda crowded, but he'd deal with that later). He needed to be sharp here. Su Li caught it next, her fingertips to her lips as her eyes shone with that truth-devouring grin that Hermione often grew on her own face. Ravenclaws, Harry thought with wry amusement.

Then it was Hermione Granger's own time on screen, her spells - as expected - as obscure and twisted as you could imagine. The first spell she cast twisted the Pansy-like figure out of sorts, becoming a gumby as her limbs refused to bend, and instead stretched as she tried to cast a spell. Without the proper arms, the gestures failed entirely. Hermione's wand balled the wailing Pansy up into a ball and shoved it into a very familiar glass jar. "Am I done here, Professor?"

But that wasn't the important, nor interesting part of the scene. Harry Potter was avidly watching Hermione Granger. She'd actually dropped her quill, sending spatters of ink over her desk (the only one in the room - considerate of Snape? surely you jest. Bet he'll get a kick out of her rewriting those notes, though!) Then she leaned forward, analyzing the fight. On the edge of her seat, even.

Harry appeared on screen, and, unlike most of the others, his style focused more on evasion. Harry spent minutes, diving, twisting, springing upright to cast a hex, somersaulting. It would have been a masterclass on evasion, Harry thought wryly. Eventually, Harry ended it, by popping up behind a suspiciously tombstone looking rock, and using Expelliarmus and then a Hold Person charm that wrapped the Malfoy in ropes.

"That took you how long, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, the scorn light on his tongue. The other Slytherins laughed - particularly Pansy, who had a surprisingly grating bark-like laugh. It sounded like the whole room was echoing with laughter.

Harry generally considered himself an even-tempered person. He didn't get upset when people made fun of his mistakes. But these - these weren't his. They were Snape, deliberately making fun of him. Harry backed towards a wall, less for the security than to evade people's scornful looks. Harry wasn't trying for it, but he caught a glimpse of Snape's bright eyes, and that smug smirk he wore on his face. _He knew I'd be upset, the bastard!_

Seamus showed up on screen next, and now it was Dean's turn to frown, choosing, ultimately not to ask why Seamus was wielding fire with his usual reckless abandon - and mixing it with gouts of water, making steam. Seamus took down the Dean-alike with a clout to the head.

Harry hadn't really been looking at any of that, however. He'd been breathing hard, and looking down at his feet. Hermione had paused her writing, looking at him in concern, when Ron gave a slow shake of his head, warning her off. Harry, of course, hadn't noticed this either.

He'd been busy picturing his anger as a pulsing heart, with him inside it, choked off from everything. Harry concentrated on his breathing, as other students appeared on the screen. He was _not_ going to lose control. He just _wasn't_. Of course, the ribbon of fear that _Voldemort might hear_ threatened to wrap around his neck and strangle him. In. Out. He breathed, concentrating more on the exact placement of his lungs, his gut, his spine. Letting everything fall away.

Around him, the silence grew even as he struggled with his temper. His curiosity started to get the better of his anger. He wanted to see who had figured it out. He wanted ot know who had decided to _be silent_.

With one long, slow breath he opened his eyes. Su Li was on screen, performing some sort of spell that seemed half made out of interpretive dance. She was lithe and graceful, and her spell, once cast, blew the target dummy to flinders and shrapnel.

Oddly enough, it was Padma who spoke up. "Su Li doesn't know that spell! That spell's _private_, and _isn't_\- Who is casting _that_?!" She sputtered.

"A very good question," Snape said, stalking up from behind Padma, as if he'd known who would speak up from the beginning. "Theories?"

"You've already shown that this room is capable of producing copies of people," Draco Malfoy said, "Who's to say any of this is real?"

"Magic must have a source, and spells can't be cast by inanimate objects." Hermione Granger countered.

Harry blinked, starting to get concerned. He had thought they were just practice dummies, albeit very, very good ones. Had someone actually been ... dissolved? Exploded? Squished into a bouncy ball?

Harry felt his hair start to prickle...

Slowly, Harry turned around, trying to make it look like he was just looking at the Ravenclawish folks vying for an answer. Even Susan Bones was chiming in. Snape just leaned back, smirking, letting the class have it as a discussion. Well, it certainly was lively.

There was something Harry was missing... that was what his senses were telling him. He'd turned completely around, surveyed the entire room, and yet, there wasn't anything! Closing his eyes, he concentrated on hearing, albeit with the additional difficulty of three different shrill arguments going on at once. Now that was an odd thought - Snape, perhaps the quietest teacher in the school, the grim Potions Master who demanded perfect silence so as to not interrupt others' brewing... Liked the conflicting, tussling arguments that were raging through his classroom. Blinking, Harry realized that, as a teacher, he'd have liked it too. The kids were not just participating, they were enjoying developing ideas. All wrong of course, Harry thought with an inner smile that he didn't let show.

"That is enough, class." Snape said, his soft low voice cutting through Hermione's hollering and Draco's curt barks. "Nine out of ten conversationalists completely missed t he idea that the spells didn't have to come from the Dummy." The Ravenclaws were showing signs of distress, and Harry swore he saw Theo Nott nearly break a quill. "I stood behind, casting the spells as needed." Snape didn't smile, so much as his lips thinned. "Your attention was on your classmate, anyway. Part of the point of a critique." Snape paused, for a moment and then asked offhandedly, as if he didn't know the answer, "Now who were you watching?"

Apparently the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had had quite enough of the focus of the room being on the other two houses, as they struck up a spirited debate. Glamours, Polyjuice, even notice-me-not spells were mentioned. Not to mention Ernie had dredged up ideas about artifacts, goblin-made or otherwise. Snape let the shouting match, happy-go-lucky though it was, continue for a spate of time.

Eventually, however, he had had enough, "Who?" He asked, his harsh tone cutting through the din.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looked at each other. Susan Bones shrugged, and posited, "Professor McGonagall with Human Transfiguration."

"If only I was so predictable," Snape said in a sarcastic drawl.

Slowly, Hermione Granger's hand rose, from her position on the floor, with a quill and a Punnet Square. "The other Defense Professor. She's the only one with a free period."

"Very good, 5 points to Hufflepuff." Severus Snape said, and before anyone except Ron Weasley's jaw could drop, Professor Tonks began to change, turning into her normal form - with black and yellow striped hair.

Harry Potter started to swear, but he kept it from reaching his lips. How had she managed to do that, in the middle of class - undetected, switch out for Hermione, of all people. At least he'd been right to look around. Probably a disillusionment spell, he thought with some chagrin.

"Since you were all focused on your classmates, I could afford a bit of dissonance between spells cast and motions of the practice dummy," Snape said smugly. "Your assignment, should it not be obvious, is to record as many interesting bits of information about yourself, as others don't know. Write a few lists - one that only your best friend should know - at least 25 on there. Write at least ten that your house knows, and others do not. And Three that could be used by whichever side of the war you happen to be on."

Harry's eyes had quickly left Snape's, and were looking at everyone else. Surprisingly, people seemed okay with the assignment - even the Slytherins, who loved keeping secrets. Of course, Harry thought, it helped that they thought he was on their side.

Hannah Abbot spoke up, "Then what was the point of the specific spells and techniques demonstrated, sir?"

Snape smirked, and said simply, "Not one of those I selected passed the assignment. As shown before the class, this is what you should aspire to. It is quite one thing for me to demonstrate a curse. Another when you see your own skin, flesh and bone executing it perfectly."

Snape had made Harry look like a _perfect idiot_. Harry's hands had curled into fists, and he nearly stormed out of the classroom as Snape dismissed the class. Unbeknownst to him, Snape's black eyes followed him, with just a trace of a frown.


	25. Screaming Inside

Harry was storming off to Transfiguration - not having time after Snape's class was an unfortunate consequence of him devouring all the classtimes for all four Houses. As he crashed down the stairs, his footsteps booming like a giant's, He heard an odd chirping noise from... _above_ him?

Harry looked up, easily spotting Luna Lovegood. "Luna?" He asked, erasing the _what the hell are you doing up there?_

"Harry! Your wrackspurts are forming a hideous horde!" Luna said, for once seeming scared.

"Oh, really?" Harry asked dryly. "I'd never have guessed."

Luna patted the stone beside her (her feet were dangling off the oddly jutting bit of stone... balcony, you might say. "Come up here with me!"

Harry shook his head, smiling indulgently, "I've got Transfiguration next, and Professor McGonagall doesn't like people being late."

"Not today." Luna said, smiling, "Today, you'll do better with me."

Harry paused, thought about it - specifically, at how angry he was, and how much that interfered with him concentrating. "You're right, Luna, just hang on."

As he turned around and rushed up the steps to the level which Luna was on, he felt curious - what/why had Luna asked for him? Was it to study the wrackspurts - whatever they were?

Hermione saw him coming, and groused, "You've got transfiguration next, Harry - McGnagall hates it when anyone's late."

Luna said, loudly, from above, "Refer to Section 4, paragraph 92, line 3."

Hermione turned her head upwards looking at Luna with wide eyes. Eventually she finished her recall search, saying, "Luna! I should have known." With a chagrined smile, she looked at Harry and said, "Have fun!"

Harry was amused, himself, at the ability of Luna Lovegood to work miracles. Anyone who could manage to get Hermione to allow him to skip class? Miracle worker!

Harry darted through the crowd, now that he was no longer completely lost to fury, it refused to part for him on instinct. When he scrambled off the stairwell onto the fifth floor, he started searching for the path that would lead to Luna's airy balcony. It was difficult to find - more than five minutes searching, and he'd know where it was, too!

Luna started as she saw him, and Harry would have worried she'd have fallen, if it wasn't Luna Lovegood, Resident Miracle Worker. Luna would probably just fly. "Oh! we aren't going to stay here. As the sun's up, let's try the top of the Astronomy Tower."

Harry would have said something about Luna burning, but she kept a pretty brutal pace, and he nearly had to jog to keep up.

Luna twirled when she got out in the sun, giggling a bit. Harry watched her, a small smile on his face. Luna was always so carefree, even when people had been bullying her, she'd risen above it, like a balloon. And sure, they'd probably tied knots in her string, but it was almost as if she hadn't cared. Harry himself strode out into the sunlight, looking up at the sun for a moment, before looking out at the Forbidden Forest.

"Do you ever think you're a fly, trapped in a spider web? Struggling and struggling and unable to win free?" Luna asked.

"No," Harry said, looking out. "Worse comes to worse, I can always just fly away." It was almost even true. He wasn't the Chosen One anymore, right? That had to be good for something!

Luna was also staring out at the Forbidden Forest, as she asked, "Then why do you act like you are?"

Harry stood there silent, for a while, trying to think about what she'd said. Truly, he'd have a hard time explaining why he got _so angry_. Ron got angry, and shouted and yelled, but somehow with him it was different. The next day, it was as if the anger hadn't _been_.

Finally, after a long time, he said softly, "I don't know, Luna."

She turned to him, giving him a kind smile, "Well, that's good at least. Knowing what you don't know is the first step to finding the answers."

"I know, Luna." Harry responded, with a genuine smile.

"I know what I think." Luna said softly, "I think you let every emotion you have hit you like an olyphant." Harry didn't need a dictionary to remember what those were, big trunked things with floppy ears, bigger than a dragon's body.

"You're right," Harry said smoothly. Luna, even when she was sad, always seemed to float over everything. Harry envied her that trait. There were numerous times when he hadn't wanted to care nearly as much as he did.

"You need to stop, Harry." Luna said, facing him fully. "You were pushing people around on a staircase. Someone might have gotten hurt! You know the firsties don't know which stairs are tricky yet."

"I'd like to," Harry said, wondering if those were thestrals out between the trees. "But I don't know how."

"Here," Luna said, holding a five petalled flower on a chain.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"It's a synecdoche." Luna said with a soft smile, "If you look at it, you can monitor your emotions."

"And if someone else sees it?" Harry asked.

"Then they can help too! But you've got to wear it for it to work."

"Can it be anything, Luna? I don't like pink flowers..."

"Any flower would do, Harry - some other things, but they need to be separable, like flower petals."

"How about a Lily?" Harry asked.

Luna nodded emphatically. "That's perfect!" Luna then looked as stern as Luna could, saying, "Harry, you can't tell anyone I gave this to you."

"What, because they'll think I'm daft?" Harry smiled to take the sting out.

"I'm not supposed to have it, not really. It's just it asked so sweetly..." Luna smiled, "And I knew it could help..."

"No problem, then," Harry said with a broad smile, "I'll just tell everyone my Mum left it to me."

"I think you should meditate before you go to your next class," Luna said.

"I'm sorry for taking you from class, Luna." Harry said softly.

Luna smiled brightly, "Flitwick wants to Teach Us Properly how to create artifacts. He won't even let me show my way, and it's faster and better too!"

Harry mumbled agreement with Luna's logic.

Luna continued, "So I really have to thank you for keeping me out of class!"

After five and some years at Hogwarts, Harry still wasn't used to getting gifts. He absently tugged at the lily as he headed down for lunch. He wished that classes were less long than they were, because by the end of most classes, Harry was already getting bored with concentrating on anything. That had been the case for every single class last year, and this year, only Defense was generally ... interesting. Harry'd say fun, but he was concerned that if he even thought it, Snape'd change the curriculum just for spite.

Hermione and Ron made room between them for him, Ron with a "Hey, mate!" and Hermione with, well, a _look_. Harry just looked solidly at her, and nodded back. _All clear._

Neville, of course, looked up and paused at the lily, "Harry, what's _that_?"

Harry shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, "Just something my mother used to wear." Oddity resolved, the Gryffindors went back to eating.

* * *

Up at the High Table, Minerva McGonagall had a pinched look on her face, as she turned to Severus Snape, whom she'd sat beside. Snape ought to have known that it was trouble, because she _never_ sat beside him willingly. If he wanted to speak to her, he had to move to where she was, taking the initiative but losing the ability to reject the conversation.

Minerva put together a cucumber and cream sandwich, before looking up at him. He knew she was doing it just to bother him. "What is it, Minnie?" Snape snapped.

Minerva looked up, saying mildly, "That's the first time in years you've called me that."

"This is the first time in years you've willingly sat beside me. Do I smell?" Snape said.

"Always. Generally of cloudberry and oak, occasionally of bubotuber pus when you can't find a student to haul into detention," Minerva said.

Snape smirked because she was dead on target. "You know me well."

Minerva smirked at that, "Yes, but I do have to inquire as to what in blazes you did in class today."

"Only the usual," Snape said with a smirk, "Tried to bash two childrens' heads into their desks for the temerity of not paying attention to volatile cauldrons." Snape said wryly, the sarcasm dripping off his tongue, "They were in love."

Minerva chuckled, "Oh, to be children again."

"No, nay, never." Snape said, in that particular cadence.

"Will I play the wild rover..." Minerva finished, smiling happily. Referencing Scottish heritage was always a way to soften the old battleax up. Minerva took a gulp of her pumpkin juice (Snape thought it was probably too early for her to be spiking it with spirits, more's the pity). "So you don't know of _any reason_ why Harry Potter wasn't in my class today?"

"No," Snape said dourly, "But I suspect I will know, soon enough."

"Ah, Severus," Minerva said crisply, "Are we perhaps regretting dropping the Irritable and Ascerbic Potions Master guise?"

"Never," Snape said, taking a good swallow of his port. It was, perhaps, a bit early for indulging.

Harry went to Herbology next, and was glad to sink into the fight against the noxious (and toxic) weeds that were encircling the Devil's Snare. It was a difficult assignment, as you had to spray doxyvenom on the weeds, while defending yourself against the cantankerous Devil's Snare with fire. Better yet, it was engrossing. If Aunt Petunia's garden had been like this, Harry thought with a grin, he'd have willingly weeded!

Dinner was one of those uncertain times, when Harry's mind turned to what was next - in this case Defense Study Session - whatever Zach was calling it this year. One of the Slytherins was supposed to be teaching, and Harry absently hoped it would be Goyle. They'd not done nearly what the DADA classes were supposed to do with magical creatures. Of course, that was because it was difficult to get a Hippogriff into the castle without questions. Maybe Goyle was better with notice-me-not charms? Or, knowing him, he'd just unleash a herd of crups, and chase the one that went up towards the 7th floor. When asked later, he'd simply say, "Didn't think they'd run off like that." Harry well knew there were times when being thought stupid was a good, lifesaving thing. He'd done it all the time at the Dursleys.

* * *

After dinner, Snape laid out a sobering potion, and three bottles of foxwine. It had always been his drink of choice when composing - and often enough when writing monographs. He couldn't use it while mixing potions, of course, but while brainstorming, it always inspired him.

_To hell with the glasses, _Snape thought, laying down the parchment and starting to write. _I need this done quick, I've got homework to grade._ Snape's mouth flicked up into a strange semblance of a smile at that.

Harry got to the Room earlier that expected, finding Draco Malfoy trying, unsuccessfully, to assert to Hermione Granger that yes, he had studied enough. Draco shot Harry a harried look, as if to say, _Can you deal with This?_

Harry Potter shut the door carefully, and then slowly strolled over, all the while listening to the unending questions that Hermione Granger was putting to Draco Malfoy. Unending in that she wasn't stopping for breath - let alone giving him time enough to answer. Hermione was nervous - nervous about Draco Malfoy's ability to teach. While, in principle, that was a good thing, it really, really wasn't helping.

Harry put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, causing her to jump and squeak. (He was quietly glad that Malfoy hadn't taken the opportunity to ogle Hermione's breasts). "Breathe, Hermione," Harry said, grinning.

"The answer's yes," Draco's drawl put in.

"To which question?" Hermione asked, as if she didn't realize how insane it was to ask twenty and then expect an answer to each.

"All of them." Draco Malfoy said. "Start stretching," He said coldly.

Harry smirked, "Dance practice today?"

"No, more's the pity," Draco Malfoy drawled back, stretching himself out. "Be a pleasure to watch you get cursed by your partner." Draco's silver eyes met Harry's with a look of wicked amusement, "Again."

Harry snorted, and got down to stretching too. As he did, he watched other people entering. Ron pretended to look upset, but Harry was pretty sure No One was fooled. Ron's anger was legendary, known up to the eagles and down to the snakes.

After most people had entered, and mimicked the three of them off in a corner, Harry asked, "Where is Goyle?"

"Greg's running interference." Draco Malfoy's drawl was audible across the room, "So we can have this meeting today. Thank him next time, will ya?" Harry heard that as "I'll be doing it next time," which was undoubtedly what Malfoy meant, though of course, you never could really tell with a Slytherin.

Draco Malfoy had selected what seemed to be one of the most boring bits of the books Hermione had taken (Harry'd had a peek at them a couple of times, there were way more interesting things to be practicing.). Here, Draco Malfoy was having them practice reading their opponent, and casting the correct counter or shield. The twist was that the Cruciatus curse and Avada Kedavra were being mimicked by similar looking spells.

It was a game of last man standing, and Harry had intended to win, before getting hit in the back by Neville Longbottom, who'd blushed, and said, "Sorry! I missed!" Not that it really mattered, Harry thought. He didn't need to win at everything. Really, he insisted to himself.

No one had killed Draco Malfoy. Or punched him hard enough to break his nose. Harry was rather surprised. Oh, he'd been sure Ron wouldn't do it - Ron was a good kid, underneath all the anger management issues. And he knew enough chess to know when a game was being played. But Zach? Heck, even Luna was a possibility. And Harry well knew Malfoy's ability to get under his skin.

Harry was about to storm up to the Astronomy Tower, cast a notice-me-not spell, and get to glowering over the fragmented state of his mind. Meditation, that was the ticket, he was suddenly sure. Harry was so busy moving, that he didn't notice Hermione until he nearly knocked her over. As it was, he had her two feet closer to the door than when she started. "Harry!" she yelled. "Earth to Harry?!"

Harry caught Malfoy looking curiously at this exchange, avidly almost.* "Um. What?" Harry said, tilting his head just enough to indicate that Malfoy was still here and listening.

"I need to talk with you, Mister." Hermione said firmly, and Harry's heart sunk.

"What about?" Harry asked, opting for innocence.

"Oh, you know what about, Mister," Hermione said, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him out the door. Behind him, Harry swore he saw the ghost of a smirk on Malfoy's face.

Hermione pulled him into the first alcove she saw, casting privacy spells without waving her wand. "I'm impressed." Harry said quietly.

"You're getting a dressing down. It's not supposed to be public." Hermione said, and Harry thought _Little late for that, Malfoy saw._

"What for?" Harry asked, still trying for innocence, though what he was really feeling was confusion.

"You got Neville to ask me to the dance!" Hermione said, her hands on her hips, as she was leaning within inches of his face. Harry quailed, internally, and thought that if she was just a bit more angry, she'd have sparks flying about her hair.

"...Yeah?" Harry said his confusion showing.

"Mister Harry James Potter, if you want to do something nice for me, don't you DARE do it behind my back." Hermione growled.

Harry gulped convulsively, "I"m sorry," He looked briefly pained, and then said, "Did you not want someone to go with?"

Hermione snapped back, "Not the point, Mister In the Doghouse. Ask first. Don't assume you know what I want to do."

Harry nodded, eyes wide. "I'm sorry Hermione."

Hermione smiled, and it was blinding - of course, that might have been her pearly whites, so close to his face - "Learn from it. And yes, I am quite happy to go to the dance with Neville."

Hermione left, and Harry leaned back against the wall, thinking, _Women are scary. Or maybe that's just Hermione._

Have you ever felt so angry at so many different people, that you weren't quite sure where to start?

Harry Potter was having that sort of a day, and he credited his magic to keeping the slobbering* girls off his back. He knew if one of them had tried to convince him to ask her out - girls and their _games_, he'd have gone ballistic. Or, knowing his magic, possibly made_ her_ go ballistic.

It didn't matter, Harry thought as he rested, laid down really, on top of the Astronomy Tower. It didn't. Didn't make him less angry though. So he closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

He let his mind leap with the wayward wind, drawing forth fanciful thoughts as he imagined he could smell jasmine on the breeze. A foolish thought, he chided himself, before grinning, best to admit Harry Potter is a fool. Truths hurt less when you acknowledge them fully.

Snape hadn't had to - Harry thought, his eyes filling with fury as his hands clutched into fists.

No. Not Snape.

Harry wasn't here to get locked up in that perpetual shouting match.

He was here to think about Hagrid. Hagrid who'd not so much told him about his Mother's friend, Severus Snape. "Did you know my parents?" Harry'd asked, and Hagrid had. Had known them, surely, the entire time they'd been at Hogwarts.

Worse, Hagrid had told Harry that he'd written his parents' friends, looking for photos. You didn't wipe out a friendship without putting some work in, Harry thought wrathfully. Even if his mum had burnt every picture that had Snape in it - a female version of Ron or Ginny Weasley... Other people would still have the evidence. He'd have known. Unless, unless Hagrid had deliberately lied to him. Harry'd thought that Hagrid didn't know how to lie, not well, not convincingly. But this was Hagrid, who had tried, often enough, to tell Harry that Snape didn't hate him. Why couldn't he have just mentioned this? Or let it come up accidentally from pictures?

This was important. And Hagrid had kept this from him; it was a willful deceit. Kind, gentle Hagrid - it seemed unbelievabl

Why was it so wrong for Harry to want to know about his Mum? No one had as much as told him her favorite color (James' was a brilliant sky blue).

Harry sat, the sheer strength of the emotion causing little nail-marks to erupt on his palms, his fists clenched more than he meant. He wasn't sure he could forget this, or forgive it.

And, above and beyond all else, the question, the frustration, came out in a barbarian yawp, "WHY?!" Harry shouted at the sky, and then immediately hoped no one had left the window open.

Harry took the web of thought connections, and bundled them carefully into a memento box labeled Hagrid in his mind. There were other memories there, and they started to smoke a little, before Harry glared the fire out.

One person seen to, Harry thought. _Hopefully -_

Harry frowned, certain it was after curfew, _I have to ask._

Harry had gone to bed, Ron not noticing because he was so thick with Lavender Brown. Neville noticed, but knew better than to ask.

He'd tried to go to sleep.

Truly, he'd _tried_.

But it was galling, the Slytherins' laughter, the smothered amusement in Snape's eyes - Harry hadn't needed to see it to know it was there. Making fun of him, saying that he'd never be as good as even _Goyle_ (not that Harry had anything against the big bloke). Harry remembered Dudley making fun of him, his teachers looking down at him in elementary.

Hadn't hurt as bad then, had it?

That thought rested uneasily in his mind, until his mind turned from it to a building anger.

Everyone else was long abed.

Except Harry.

Harry had _questions_ to ask.

Now.

* * *

Severus Snape had long ago sent the missive he'd written, drunken his SoberUp! potion. Late as it was, he was marking potions papers. Somehow he never seemed to remember how long they'd take. At least Granger wasn't writing her usual four times the assigned work. He hadn't the time for it. As he marked someone who couldn't tell the difference between coriander root and leaves (how blitheringly stupid did you have to be?), he sighed.

It was passing midnight, and Snape's door nearly rattled on its hinges, when someone pounded on the outside. _Hagrid, _Snape thought, standing up, and relaxing his face as he opened the door for the man.

Snape spent a moment blinking in surprise - though no other trace of it passed his face, as he found Harry Potter standing in front of his door. _Blasted_ boy knew better than that, _surely?_

Snape's longfingered hand was on the middle of Potter's back, pushing him through the door as he efficiently covered the child from peeping eyes. "Were you seen?" Snape snapped.

"No," Harry Potter said, took a breath, and said, "Invisibility cloak."

"Well," Snape drawled, "The spoiled little boy admits it." Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry looked back at him truculently, but refused to rise to the bait. _That was an improvement over general Gryffindor Psychology._

"You will learn better without crutches." Snape said, holding out his hand.

Harry nodded, putting the invisibility cloak into Snape's hand. _Unexpected, that. Children love to have devices to defy authority figures._

"What brings you hear, this time of night," Snape said.

Harry's answer rolled off his tongue, _Likely thought of on the way down, _"Order Business."

Snape looked him over, raising an eyebrow, "Oh? Not terribly urgent I'd imagine, from the relative sluggishness of your arrival."

"I couldn't sleep," Harry started.

Snape couldn't resist interrupting, in his customary sarcastic drawl, "Did you come to me for warm milk?"

"Answers, really," Harry said, still in his day clothes.

"Does this have anything to do with your new jewelry?" Snape asked, his eyes fixated on the hot pink lily that seemed to spark every so often. "A new paramour, perhaps?"

Harry gave Snape such a look - easily translated as Very Funny. "No, that used to be my mum's." Harry said, looking a little sad and chagrined.

_Lily had always hated anything with lilies on it._ "I had not realized you were so adept at lying." Severus Snape shot Harry Potter a look that his own Slytherins would have understood as approval. Snape doubted Potter would recognize it that way. _He's learning but... years behind._

Harry's green eyes lept up to Snape's, and he snapped back, "How did you know?" Harry paused and then said, in a much softer tone, "I wasn't supposed to say where I got this..."

"I recognized the handiwork," Snape said, which wasn't strictly true. However, there was only one artificer in the castle good enough to create something this unusual. Well, perhaps good was a poor moniker. Batty and brilliant was the better appelation, surely. Luna Lovegood believe that all her artifacts were alive, and so she regularly talked with inanimate objects. The child was around the bend, had lost her marbles, and was on a bus so short... But enough. Snape had sworn to himself, that he was never going to tell Lovegood how objectively clinically insane her ideas were. Because they worked. The blasted sylph had enough power of belief that when she talked to inanimate objects, they actually listened. Daft, but brilliant.

"Oh," Harry said, at last, tilting his head up to look Snape in the eyes.

"Yes, oh. And I sincerely doubt she wanted you to lie to _teachers._" Snape's eyes briefly flashed as he spoke.

Potter shrugged, "She didn't say."

"So you admit the crafter was female?" Snape said, smirking.

"Yeah, I do," Harry said, a wisp of a smile on his face.

"I must confess to some curiousity. What is that pendant? supposed to do?" Snape asked.

"Something about my emotions," Harry said, "Help me control them." Potter was still biting off his words, but the pendant had stopped sparking at least.

"Help you, or help others?" Snape asked rhetorically.

Harry shrugged, and Snape continued, "You had questions? It's high past time you got to bed." His voice had an edge in it that his Slytherins knew meant _get on with it._ If Potter didn't know by now, well, he'd learn.

"Why'd you make fun of me in class today? What's the point of a lesson when you're showing me worse than I can actually fight? Wasn't that supposed to be showing people better than they are now?" Harry asked, petulantly.

Snape realized that Potter had been thinking - no, stewing - over this. Likely since the end of class. "Did you want to yell?" Snape said, only his eyes betraying his temper, "I can cast a silencing charm if you'd like?"

Harry's shake of the head was like an axe chopping a tree. Firm and headlong at once. "Just answer the questions."

When Snape spoke next, his voice was cold as iron, "I refuse to give pointless lessons, Potter."

"Are you saying that I'm hopless?!" Harry projected, his voice still a speaking voice, but with enough air behind it to make the entire stony room _ring_.

"Would I have taught you this summer if I thought that?" Snape said, his voice still low, soft - and penetrating.

"What's changed?" Harry asked sharply.

"Nothing, on that front," Snape said, turning away from Harry to return to his side of the desk. "Sit down," Snape said, not in the mood to yell at Harry about belting his words, apparently.

"I gave the same instruction to everyone who walked into that room: go all out, to the death." Snape shot a withering look at Harry Potter, "Except you, of course."

"Because I know wandless magic?" Potter questioned.

"No." Snape said softly, "Because you're the only student in the room that I can count to actually do it."

Harry's eyes widened at this. _This_ was certainly not what he'd been expecting.

"Or, perhaps, I should say this. Commanded by someone you trust," The implication that Snape was not to be trusted was clear. Snape continued, "You might be ordered to kill Miss Granger or Mister Weasley. You'd do it, too."

Harry opened his mouth, both in shock, and in impulsive need to deny it.

Snape overrode Harry's objections, "War is rarely pretty. I won't leave behind the lessons of previous Wizarding Wars." Harry considered this, knowing that Snape was a spy. Possibly - probably, had friends on all sides.

And then Snape said possibly the one thing that Harry wasn't thinking of, couldn't, wouldn't have thought of, in a million years. "Albus Dumbledore vanquished his best friend, Gellert Grindenwald. It was only by Fawkes' wing that Grindenwald lived."

"They were friends?" Harry finally managed, his throat running dry from the implications.

"For quite some time," Snape said, his reticence resurfacing.

"You have the makings of a fine soldier, Potter, if you manage to survive your first battle or three." Snape said, and his eyes somehow burnt tired. "A task made easier if the other side underestimates and misjudges you, is it not?"

Harry's eyes widened, "Yes, _sir_."

"Your fellow pupils from Slytherin House have eyes, Potter, not just poisonous forked tongues." Snape said, smirking, "Do you really think they'd believe my judgement of your capacity?"

"i... I hadn't ... thought." Harry stammered.

"No, you hadn't. Instead, you _felt_." Snape said, his tone uncompromising, the disdain clear.

"I'm sorry sir." Harry said, having trouble understanding how he was supposed to be sorry for feeling - but feeling it anyway. _Bastard_.

Snape paused, his eyes arrested, "Your lily - it's now pale pink."

Harry looked down, and then said, despite knowing that Snape didn't, couldn't, care about his _feelings_. "I'm feeling embarrassment."

"Unless it fuels change, shame is not a tool, but a chain around your neck." Snape said, looking smug. "Fix the problem, Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, leaving out the door. _He hasn't, not this whole year, taken me back to Gryffindor Tower. Trust is a sometimes thing._

Harry was too tired to wake up the next morning. Didn't matter. He thought, thankful, that he'd managed to get five hours sleep. He was running, and that was that.

In fact, as his feet started to pound on the grass outside, he found himself smiling at the world, as the physical exercise woke him up. There wasn't anyone around, and the animals were happy. Was that the Giant Squid waving at him? Well, maybe not.

Harry let his mind wander, and he touched very, very carefully on the fear that he'd experienced after Voldemort had tried to raid his _mind_. It, well, was scary. He knew so many things, so many things he didn't want HIM knowing about.

Still a little scared, Harry asked himself - what was so different? He'd been so angry, many times, feeling more - but no response, no question from HIM. Harry frowned, it had to be, he was suddenly sure, the mixture. Not elation, not anger, not confusion and exhaustion, but all of them wrapped together.

Harry was done being angry for a while. He'd had enough of it. He was just going to smile, and everything would be alright.

He'd barely got the thought into his head, before Snape tried to knock it out with a Stupefy. Harry rolled to avoid it, his robes flapping around him. Harry sighed, and shot back a nonverbal stinging hex. His mind inserted _Is that the best you've got, Potter_ Though of course, Snape, under his invisibility spell, wouldn't say a word. Harry felt one of his legs lock, and he flexed his hand, releasing the hold.

Snape faded back, and Harry slowed, not daring to stop, just wanting to - He shot a green curse, and Snape went down.

Lesson passed.

Except, that Harry still had half the castle to run around. And Snape wasn't going to let him rest on his laurels.

As if to prove Potter wrong, Harry went down, again and again, before he made it back to the castle.

* * *

Ron looked at him like he had had sex with an Ent, "Mate, what happened to you?"

Harry shrugged, said, "Couldn't sleep. Went running."

Seamus looked up and said, "Running into the muddy ruddy lake?"

Dean said, "More likely running from the Farmer!" Harry didn't laugh at that last one, not appreciating the idea that he'd be rutting that early in the morning.

* * *

By the time Harry'd made it down to breakfast, they'd stopped ribbing him on how filthy he'd been. Harry ate slowly, letting his mind drift onto other matters. Like Snape and his mum. Lily. What had that been like? The way Harry saw Snape - well, in six years of knowing him, he hadn't seen the bastard smile. Not Once. Even Dumbledore smiled, could let down whatever he was working on. Not Snape - Snape the workaholic. Harry wondered if Snape'd been like that with his mum. Maybe she'd badger him, like Ron did Hermione, until Snape gave up and got out of the library.

That was a surprisingly peaceful picture. Harry knew real life wasn't that way.

Had they hidden their friendship? Was it something that led to soft laughter by the Black Lake? Had they flung it in the faces of the racist bastards and the intolerant arses? Harry'd known, for some time, that his mum and father weren't friends, to start. Was that way? Had James' hatred for Snape turned Lily against him? Harry wouldn't be surprised if it had.

"Earth to Harry," Hermione said, and not for the first time. Harry just gave her a quizzical look, noting, over her shoulder, Malfoy's brow creasing at the words.

Harry tried to build up walls, over the course of the day, tried to just be Harry - oblivious kid. It didn't work, the questions still tried to poke through the seams of the box that he'd made. Every so often, even when he wasn't thinking about them, they'd rattle a bit.

Harry nearly skipped dinner - only the though tthat Ron wouldn't let him forget it, and the further knowledge that he had to make an excuse at RoR, or he'd never get peace and quiet. He figured with Hermione there, Malfoy and Ron wouldn't kill each other.

Malfoy's face didn't change when Harry gave his excuse. Hermione looked silently concerned, and Ron just said, "Come back soon, mate." In that offhanded way that he'd had.

Up on the Astronomy Tower, Harry stated to think of Dumbledore. Who, if memory served him right, he'd wanted to strangle dozens of times. But perhaps never more than today. Dumbledore had outright lied to him when he'd asked,"Why does Snape hate me so much?"

And it wasn't even a convincing lie. Hell, Harry today could come up with a better one, "Gryffindor logic chafes his hide." That would have at least been the truth, or at least a shred of it.

Dumbledore didn't need to say that, either, though, he could have just said, "I have no idea," or "you should ask him yourself." Not that Harry doubted an eleven year old Potter wouldn't have been chopped into Potions Ingredients for the sheer chutzpah.

Harry frowned, _That seemed deliberate. __Why would he care so much about shifting my focus onto my father? Was I really supposed to idolize him just as much as Malfoy idolized his da? Here I thought Dumbledore didn't want me spoiled._

Harry clenched his fists, feeling the power of crimson rage pulse through his body. He wanted to yel at Dumbledore, to ask him why he couldn't just answer a simple question without lying. The echo of that statement caught him offguard, because he'd often accused Snape of doing the same thing.

Dumbledore had lied to him. Harry hadn't thought he'd do that. Of course, he'd also told Harry - and seemingly everyone - about the prophecy. That seemed unintentional, but it almost seemed worse.

_At least Snape regretted Harry's stay at the Dursleys_, Harry thought with fire leaping into his eyes. Dumbledore thought it was a good thing. Keep me humble. Yeah, keep me on my knees, my lips to the dirt. Even moreso when I'm back at Hogwarts, only then it's not cowardice, it's sheer happiness.

*Have you ever thought about what it would be like to know there's a whole world out there, and that you couldn't possibly set one foot in it? Then to see it by little glimpses and pieces, from people who weren't even your friends so you didn't get to ask questions? Malfoy's a curious sap.


	26. Halloween Ball

The next morning, Harry came down to breakfast feeling, well, energetic. Bruised, a bit, battered, certainly, but energetic, too. 'Runs' did that to him.

He sat down and started piling his plate with pancakes. Looking up, as Hermione and Ron sat down (they were still bickering, but they always bickered), he frowned. "Has anyone seen Neville?" Normally, Harry wouldn't care too much, but these days... Even at Hogwarts, folks were in danger.

"Haven't seen him," Hermione said, with a frown of her own.

Dean spoke up from down the table, "He's been excused from classes. Said he'd take my notes."

Hermione sniffed, "I really don't see why he didn't ask me."

Seamus said, "Probably thought you were too busy, giving notes to these ingrates."

"Hey!" Ron said.

Harry just ducked, and then said quietly, "I resent that."

Lavender Brown, who liked potions, said, "Have you done your Potions Homework yet?"

Harry's face fell further. "Shite... Hermione-" He turned pleading eyes towards his friend.

Unlike normal, Hermione had her arms crossed, "Harry Potter, what in the hell have you been doing that you can't even be bothered to try your homework?"

Harry flushed, "There's a list." Frowning, he thought, "Detention, for a lot of it. Defense - and you know," He said, with a sparkle in his eye.

"You're going to do your homework next week, if I have to drag you there." Hermione ground out.

"You're the best, Hermione!" Harry said, not the least because Hermione always pulled double the books she'd need for the assignment, so Harry didn't have to figure out the library in addition to doing his homework.

Frantically, Harry started to copy, knowing he was probably only going to get half of the assigned length- he pulled out his own book to cross-reference, then threw it donw, and dug through Hermione's backpack, "Hey! Those are my library Books!"

"Sorry, I'll put them back... in juuust a minute." Harry said, frantically reading bits and pieces that he could weave together into something approaching coherency.

* * *

The rest of Harry's day, other than trying to survive potions, was spent dodging girls. Apparently they'd all, together, decided on an all out charm offensive. Harry spat, he kicked, he screamed; but they still grabbed him up, one by one, trying to corner him - why didn't girls understand how much he hated to be pinned down? It reminded him of the graveyard, for god's sake! So NOT Romantic!

By the end of the day, he'd managed to hold it together so that no one was bawling their eyes out at his rudeness. (He'd been plenty rude, but his temper hadn't blown. Small mercies).

Harry Potter found himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Again. This time he just wanted to unravel what he was feeling about Sirius Black. He was perhaps the person Harry'd _least_ expected to tell him about Snape's friendships -at least with Gryffindors.

That didn't mean he wasn't still upset, but he was more upset about EVERYTHING and not about something in particular. He was upset at Sirius for getting himself killed, upset at Harry Potter for letting himself get tricked by a Slytherin mind (hadn't Ron said that Slytherins always lied?). He was upset at Snape for goading Sirius into stupidity. And at Snape for pushing at Harry's own guilt, and approving of it.

Yes, he had to learn, had to get better. Not that he was doing a good job of showing it, now was he? Your curiosity is going to get someone killed.

God, he hoped that didn't happen.

Harry promised himself he'd learn. No more. He'd developed quite a habit of poking around after Slytherins. Why did he even need to learn their plans? Dumbledore always seemed to know everything, and Snape was a bloody teacher and Head of House. That meant he had Dumbledore's respect... and TRUST.

Harry's eyes flicked back to Sirius, seeing those brilliant eyes flashing with merriment, his hair - coal black as his name- fluttering in the breeze.

_Why couldn't you have been who I thought you were?_

Because Sirius had been a bully, and just because Snape was now capable of taking care of himself (and how!), didn't mean that Sirius had stopped. Not that Snape wasn't trying to score points either.

Harry Potter had found the whole thing frustrating (and, truthfully, a bit scary) at the time, and now it only felt worse.

Harry'd wanted a dad, wanted someone he could count on, someone who, most importantly, could get him out of the Dursleys' cold clutches. Harry'd never felt despair quite like being kept in that house after Sirius had died. Headquarters may have been gloomy, but... It wasn't at all the same.

Sirius had died for nothing.

And Harry had to live with that. Sitting down in the center of the roof, he bowed his head over his knees, and cried. Unnoticed by Harry, the lily he was wearing had turned black.

Harry let the excitement of the day wash over him, biting the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. It was fun, for once, to take a real break, and have a true Halloween Ball. Oh, sure, the youngest kids were still at the Feast, but the older kids got to dance. And someone always tried to sneak some liquor into the punch. Not that it generally worked - and if so, certainly not for long, but it was a gas pretending that it had.

Harry grinned, thinking of last year, and all the pranks the Twins had told him about from earlier years. Unseen by him, his lily was pure grass green, just a shade lighter than his eyes.

Odd thing though, Neville still wasn't down at breakfast. "Should you be worried?" Harry asked Hermione, leaning into her.

"Of course not," Hermione said, making an o with her thumb and fingers, and then tapping the pulse point at her wrist.

* * *

Draco Malfoy's eyes narrowed, the whole way across the room in the Great Hall. Since when did _Gryffindors_ have secret call signs?

Draco wasn't the only one who'd noticed that Longbottom was gone. Goyle said gruffly, "Figure he's gone off to cry, too scared to get a date?"

Draco just shrugged. Now that he looked, there were other people missing. Lovegood. Finnegan. That made an odd combination, in truth.

"Something's happening," Draco Malfoy said, gritting his teeth, "And I'd like to know what." Nott caught his eye, across the table, and nodded. Nott was always the quiet one, so few people really suspected just how much mischief he got into on a regular basis. Perhaps the Twins had figured it out, but they guarded secrets like dragons guarded gold.

* * *

Harry was out by the Black Lake, skipping stones across the water. Ginny Weasley hoofed up, huffing at the unplanned exertion. "What's up, Potter?" she asked.

Harry just shrugged. "Gotta dance. Your date ready?"

"Suppose so," Gin said, shrugging.

Harry turned his eyes on her, as usual, flame red hair. It was, as usual, utterly gorgeous. "Just remember at the dance... I'm not gay, Gin."

Ginny started to laugh, and laugh, "Oh, god, I thought you were gonna pull a Ron there!" Her laughter, bright and cheery, continued. Ginny leaned up close to him, and asked, "What deviltry are you planning!"

"No deviltry at all, ma'am" Harry said, "I'll be the perfect gentleman."

"Oh, will you." Ginny grinned, "Are you going with Neville? Tell me it's Neville!"

"Better." Harry said, no longer fighting the grin.

Ginny squealed. "This is going to be SO much fun! Vane won't know what to do with herself!"

Harry grinned back, and went back to skipping stones, as Ginny ran off to be girly with her girly friends.

Harry Potter had to ask Hermione to help him get dressed. He didn't own any decent muggle clothes, and he wanted to kick this up a notch. How better to stick it in the eye of those prejudiced assholes? Hermione had smiled at what he was planning, anyway - not that he'd told her who he was going with. He just gave her a grin, and said "It's a surprise."

Which, of course, got "Harry James Potter, you know how I hate surprises."

"You'll like this one," Harry said, with a grin. Honestly, he wasn't sure she would. But he wasn't telling her beforehand for the _world_. If she didn't somehow transfigure this into some sort of display of InterHouse Relations, she'd lecture his ear off. Now, Hermione was Harry's friend, so he'd let her - he just wanted to have Done Something Wrong, _first_.

Harry knew where Draco Malfoy would be coming up to the Dance, so he found a decently hidden alcove and watched... well, _everyone else_. For his eyes sake, it was a good thing that nobody wanted to snog before the dance. They might have run straight into him. And wouldn't that have made a lovely mess?

Quick as a Snitch, Harry grabbed Draco Malfoy's arrogant hand, as he strutted arrogantly towards the Dance Hall. (Had Draco actually been walking at speed, the maneuver wouldn't have worked, but when did Malfoy ever _not strut_?)

Draco's grey eyes widened as they found themselves staring into Harry Potter's green eyes.

"Ready, lover-boy," Harry Potter said with a grin.

"Always. And look, my partner's managed to not look like a refugee." Draco Malfoy said, withi his drawl. His eyes sparkled with humor, though.

"The old," Harry said, gesturing to Draco Malfoy's fine Wizarding robes, "And the new," He said, gesturing to his own.

"Nouveau riche is the term." Draco Malfoy said with a sneer, as they started to move.

"Only if you're French. Self-made man's the Americanism." Harry Potter said with a smile.

"And what has possibly possessed you to think that I've ever encountered such a strange breed of person? An American!" Draco Malfoy spouted, sounding entirely too pompous - and unbelievable to boot.

Harry, who wanted to crack up laughing, simply directed a 'loving' smile towards the blond.

They kept up the chatter, starting a lively debate about whether Muggles or Americans were more uncouth - Draco was sure it had to be Americans, but Harry thought that half the Wizarding customs had to do with magic, and, well, when you haven't got any, you're bound to break a few rules. Or, you know, the rulebook. It was one of those lively debates that Harry remembered from getting drunk after Quiddich matches, fresh from the adrenaline high of victory.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy entered the Halloween Ball arm in arm, one in the finest of robes, and one in muggle regalia*

Conversations died, in a long, slow ripple, as people caught sight of them. Even the music stopped. Couples would turn to see, and Harry Potter thought he heard a girlish squeal. He hadn't seen any of his friends yet, and he was vaguely starting to worry.

_Everyone_ heard the falling glass.

Harry, who'd kept his face straight the whole time, said, "How appropriate. We should always remember sadness in the midst of great joy. Now let's Smile and Dance!" Harry was fairly certain that the musicians had merely picked up on their cue, not that they were listening to the Chosen One order them around.

"I'll lead," Draco Malfoy said, as he put his hand on Harry's hip, the other on his shoulder.

"I don't know how to follow." Harry Potter said.

"_That's __why_ I'm leading," Draco Malfoy said, sounding cross. "Now watch my feet, do as they do, and _don't_ step on them."

Harry'd never felt anything like it, to be honest. Draco had actually spent years learning to dance. He made it look easy. Stranger still, he made Harry Potter look good. It was all in the cueing, the hand gently turning Harry...

Snape stormed up to them, and from the look in his eye, was only _barely_ restraining himself from grabbing them both by the scruffs of their necks, and then hanging them out the window. "What is the meaning of this?" Snape hissed, and even if no one else could hear over the music, Harry knew they were getting curious stares. "And don't give me that lie that you've fallen for each other. I know perfectly well you're both straight." Harry's mind halted at that thought, because he really, really didn't need to know how Snape knew that. Of course, having found such a distressing thought, his brain wanted to fixate on it. Entirely counterproductive, really.

Draco Malfoy had his mouth open, no doubt to say something smarmy and deflecting, when Snape loomed over them both, his long-fingered hands planted between their shoulder-blades, as his face pressed forward. "Is this some sort of political statement?" Draco Malfoy's face tried to pale, but -of course- he was naturally very near an albino, so it didn't so much turn paler as _turn blue_.

Harry Potter, for similar but very different reasons, blaunched. He knew better than to speak-

Draco Malfoy, however, hadn't learned that lesson. Chastened, he said, "No, sir."

Snape's voice cut like a serrated knife, leaving wounds that wouldn't mend, as he very softly said, "Do you have any idea what your father will do, if he learns of this - _this prank_?"

"Please, sir," Harry said, "I hadn't realized..." Harry immediately wanted to call the words back - what was he doing, standing in front of Draco when Snape was in a temper? Snape actually liked Draco. Stupid Gryffindor Impulses.

At nearly the same time, Draco Malfoy said, "I lost a bet, sir. This was the price."

Looking down at his feet, Harry Potter said, softly, "I figured the girls would stop chasing us if they thought we weren't interested,"

"You will _excuse me_, while I go catch some miscreants before they send this to the Daily Prophet," Snape snarled, striding off with his robes swirling behind.

Draco Malfoy still seemed frozen, but he found his voice enough to say, "He means Parkinson and Creevy."

"Parkinson? But isn't she one of your friends?" Harry Potter said.

"Doesn't mean she doesn't want to be a reporter." Draco Malfoy smirked, weakly, "And I have to admit, _this is news_."

"Creevy will take pictures of anything. He'll take triples if it's of me, though," Harry Potter sighed.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Malfoy said, "Snape's word is solid."

From the Great Hall, where the younger students were having their Feast, came the Scottish cry, "They did WHAT?" The entire dance listened to McGonagall's cackling laughter.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had taken a turn, and then two on the dance floor - as the next song came on, it was a polka. "I don't know how to dance this." Harry admitted.

"Just follow me," Draco Malfoy said, his breath warm on Harry's ear. "Jump!" Draco said, and the sprightly music began to sparkle around them. Harry had hold of Cho Chang beside him, and Draco was holding onto Sue Bones. But it'd seemed the entire room had joined - even Ron, who hated dancing above most things.

At the end of the dance, Harry announced cheerfully, "I need a drink!"

"Second that," Draco Malfoy said firmly, and they both headed over to the drinks table. Of course, if they hadn't been so loud and overt about it, Harry thought, they might have been able to dodge Pansy Parkinson.

"Dra-co honey, why didn't you tell me? A bet's a bet, and you know I wouldn't want to make trouble." Pansy Parkinson said in a sultry voice.

"You're always trouble, Pans. I see you coming." Draco Malfoy smirked.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have been about to send a letter off to your father, if I'd known why you did it." Pansy sniffed.

"You wouldn't send a damn thing to my father, and we both know it. You'd have sent it to the Prophet, and let all the chips fall where they may."

"True enough. Still should have told me, though."

"Didn't think this one through enough, I suppose," Harry put in, looking a bit chagrined.

Pansy let out a light sigh, and pouted a bit, "I'll take care of it. But you owe me."

"Always, Pans, always. Since the time I smashed a dragon on your head and sent you unconscious." Draco Malfoy said. Harry Potter just stared, eyes wide.

As Pansy sashayed off, Ron and Hermione came over, "Mate! This was the best prank ever!" Ron said affably.

Draco Malfoy said, voice like ice, "Well if it isn't the Weasel, come to pretend that he knew it all along."

Ron shot Draco Malfoy a surprisingly civil glare, "I like to think my best friend would have told me if he was going to date his mortal enemy."

Harry Potter just started cracking up laughing, "Mortal enemy? Draco Malfoy?! Try Voldemort."

Draco Malfoy tried to hide the bright sensation of pain, but Ron's steady, considering eyes on him said he'd failed. Draco met Ron's with a confrontational glare.

"Just so you know where you stand." Ron Weasley said heavily.

"Bet it gets the birds off my back, though," Harry said, "Bright side to everything, even losing a bet." Harry was hoping that Malfoy would know better than to correct him.

Suddenly, the music stopped. As if someone had cut the strings. Harry's brief glance towards the musicians showed them stopping playing after they had been silenced.

The dance floor was filled with people in circles, now starting to shift uneasily and almost break up.

A bright spot of light suddenly illuminated the center of the dance floor. Neville Longbottom stood there, with Luna on one side, carrying a harp, and Finnegan on the other side, with a bohdrin.

The people on the dance floor turned to them, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

Neville opened his mouth and sang:

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_Will you bring them smiles and good cheer,_

_Or will you quake with fear?_

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_When it's time to bend the knee or fight_

_Will you do what's right?_

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_When there's nothing to do but scream_

_It won't be just a silly dream..._

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

_Death Eaters at the door, are you listening?_

It wasn't a minor key, nor was it a major one, wandering between jangly notes. Finnegan's soft drum didn't overwhelm Longbottom's voice, and Luna's golden harp made glistening bridges of notes, that she let collapse again and again.

Harry's eyes flashed at Dumbledore, whose eyes seemed delighted... and surprised. "Thank you very much for that, I always encourage creativity from our students..." Dumbledore pulled at his beard, "I daresay this is more relevant than the Frog Chorus." The Headmaster canceled the silencing charm around the band, and gestured for them to start.

Harry turned towards Draco, only to realize that he'd disappeared. So had all the Slytherins, really. The mood of the crowd had soured, and was uneasy to boot. Harry didn't mind them leaving, not really. He well knew the dangers of a crowd of scared people. This lot wouldn't need pitchforks, either, magic being what it was.

Harry sidled through the mostly Gryffindor and Hufflepuff crowd around Neville, "Where'd you get the brilliant idea to do that?"

Neville smiled back at Harry and made that o-shape with his hand, and then tapped on his wrist, "Dumbledore, I think."

Harry's eyes narrowed, as he deliberately set them on his own feet. No, he trusted that Dumbledore wouldn't have looked surprised, unless he truly was. Trouble was, who in the order knew music of all things? Maybe Arabella Figg? But no, she wasn't. musically inclined, either. And Luna would have simply told Neville she came up with it.

Which left Snape. Harry's conclusion there left a bad taste in his mouth. It felt wrong to just blame the spy for anything he didn't understand. Still, Harry thought, in this case, he was right.

The rest of the dance seemed a blur. Harry'd gone up to congratulate Seamus and Nevile and Luna, but discovered that the mob was so enamoured that he'd better just wait till later. Once the Slytherins returned, Harry'd let Malfoy do most of the talking, as he was more skilled with lying. He'd said variously to different people, that "They'd done this for a laugh", to a smirky "Dating for ages," to a standoffish "I didn't come with him," (which was hilarious, as Goyle and Crabbe didn't want to actually vocally disagree with Malfoy). Harry just knew the gossips would be staying up late for days trying to figure Draco Malfoy out.

"Best Date I've had at Hogwarts," Harry said firmly.

"Huh. What do you know. Me too." Draco Malfoy said, slightly flummoxed.

"What, you didn't like Pansy at Yule?" Harry said.

"She wore pink. And called me Drakey-poo." Draco Malfoy said. "It was entirely undignified."

"So why'd you ask her then?" Harry responded.

"Who says I did?" Malfoy shot icily back.

"Don't tell me, your parents arranged it." Harry said, sounding a bit chagrined.

"No, she asked me. In her very skilled, "I know what's best for you" voice," Draco Malfoy said, sounding the slightest bit put out, "I didn't have my eye on anyone, so... why not?" Draco's chagrined smile told it all, as he said, "She explained why not, at quite some length. I know I left the dance before you did."

Harry nodded, "Yeah, because at least I'd gone with someone I could stand."

"I love Pansy," Draco Malfoy said, and at Harry's wide-eyed face, snorted, "Not like that. She's a great friend. Bad date though, at least for me."

"I heard that, Draco Malfoy," Pansy said. "You Tricked me tonight! You owe me!" By this point, Pansy'd managed to grab Draco's arm. "Downstairs, now!" Pansy snapped, "You're going to finish the five inches of Potions that I can't be bothered to write." Her blueeyed look certainly put the lie to 'can't be bothered.' as she was clearly bothered by this.

"No goodbye kiss, Potter?" Malfoy said, a challenging gleam in his eye.

"You're on," Harry growled, having just a split second to see Malfoy's eyes bug out, before he was kissing the other boy. Not that Harry liked Draco or anything (though he was possibly able to stand him, for short periods of time). And then Harry daringly slid his tongue between his lips, licking demandingly at the point where Draco's lips pressed together. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, and Harry wrapped his hands around the small of Draco's back. And then they were frenching.

As they pulled apart - both struggling to catch their breath - more because they had somehow construed the challenge to be "kiss for as long as possible" than any sort of arousal.

"I still don't like you, Malfoy," Harry ground out.

"Same here," Malfoy said.

Harry Potter knew something was up, as he headed down into the Common Room. Neville was there, as was Ron, and Hermione and Seamus - and Ginny. They were looking at him like they expected him.

"Sit down, Harry," Neville asked. No, demanded. And, this being Neville, he never demanded a damn thing out of anyone.

Harry sat.

"Harry, we just wanted to let you know it's okay to like boys." Neville said, looking perfectly serious.

Ron spoke up next, "Yeah, mate, you don't need to pretend."

Hermione, wringing her hands, blurted out, "It's not like the Muggle world at all! It's actually mostly accepted here."

Harry's mouth had dropped open somewhere during this, and - shocked, he blurted out, "I'm not gay." These were his friends, his... family. Did they really think he'd been hiding something that important? Lying to everyone? Lil' Harry who couldn't tell a lie without it being fucking transparent?

At which point the entire room started laughing. "Of course we know that, mate," Neville said, with a broad shit-eating grin on his face. "Just takin' the Mickey out on ya."

And with that, Harry could breathe again.

* * *

Harry spent most of the day in the library. Or rather, he would've, if he hadn't been mobbed by girls... and boys. Mostly younger than him, which didn't help his temper. He couldn't shout at them... not in the library. So he'd found himself in an abandoned classroom on the eighth floor (where Hogwarts was notorious about changing things around, he hoped he'd be able to get out cleanly), reading about Potions. Reading a lot about Potions, because this time he wasn't mooching off Hermione, and he finally had time to just ... follow the threads. Hermione always had the threads all tied up already, which made it easy to copy, but hard to understand. Because you had to know the Arithmantic and Runic significance of bubotuber pus to really get why you needed to add it after the jujuber beetles.

As Harry finished his Potions homework, he rather abruptly realized that he'd forgotten to do Snape's other homework. Truths, ones that his best friends knew. Harry wrote them, not lying a whit, and discovering as he wrote them, that Snape really knew more about Harry's life than he thought the poor bastard did. Snape, after all, had caught them after the Flying Car incident. Had been there when Harry met Sirius for the first time... Harry wrote, and wrote, discovering that fifty things that his friends knew about him was a rather quick thing to write.

Having Snape for multiple classes was turning out to be a beast.

* * *

As Harry Potter sat down to Dinner, Ron, his mouth still full, asked Harry, "Mrm bou Quiddich?"

Harry looked over and said, "Beg pardon?"

Ron swallowed and said, "When are you holding Quiddich practice?"

Harry rather abruptly remembered that he'd gotten the Quiddich captain's badge before the start of the year. "I'm not. Suppose I'd better go turn the badge in."

Ron stood up, leaning with his full height over Harry, "You can't quit Quddich? How will we win?"

Harry smirked, "Ginny Weasley's a fine Seeker. You just have to ask."

Ginny spoke up, "Thank you, Harry!"

Harry wasn't at all surprised to find Draco Malfoy watching, keenly. The Slytherin captain had, seemingly, less on his mind than Harry.

*It's just a suit. But try telling the purebloods what the difference between black tie and white tie is. They still believe in being "dressed" (Which is 1700's terminology, and people were perfectly happy to receive guests undressed - as in, in a simple tunic or nightdress. Well, at least Ben Franklin was, but we all know he was a born Hellraiser, and spun Simple American into a woman's fantasy.)


	27. The Penny Drops

After dinner, Harry wound up in Prof. McGonagall's office. It was strange, even though she was his head of house, he spent so much less time here than in Snape's office. Had always done so, in fact, mostly unwillingly.

"Well, Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall asked, "Did you have something to ask me?"

"Not really," Harry said gently, "I just don't have time for Quiddich this year." He placed the Captain's Badge on her desk, and tried to look appropriately sad or chagrined.

"You'll hold tryouts tommorrow." McGonagall said, "Anyone worth their salt has been training already, so it's not like the short notice will actually harm anything. Pick a captain while you're at it." Her tone was brusque, but not unkind. She smiled at him, taking years off her face, "You didn't think I'd let you off the hook without doing some work, surely?"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, turning around and walking out, already busy thinking about the team. Harry supposed that one day spent thinking of sports wasn't a bad thing.

* * *

Hermione seemed to think so, however. All she wanted to talk about was wandless casting, and she'd dragged Harry out of the common room to do it. Luckily, Harry'd already posted the tryouts notice, or he'd have had no players at all tomorrow (Gryffindors were notoriously late risers, and he'd planned the tryouts before breakfast, that way the Quiddich Field would be empty).

With the door shut and some privacy spells cast, Hermione started going on and on about what she was learning from Professor Snape - and yes, Harry really knew he should be listening (particularly since Snape'd been teaching her some control over her emotions, in regards to casting...), but it was Hermione and she got technical at the best of times...

About a half hour into her deliriously happy lecture, Harry had an idea. He looked over at Hermione with a grin, and said, "He kissed me too, you know." Harry tried his hardest to blush - and unlike his ability to lie, he managed a decent ruddy flush to his cheeks.

All the wheels in Hermione's head seemed to grind to a halt, and then Harry had the pleasure of looking at her, as her face morphed between surprise, interest, disgust - she clearly couldn't make up her mind what to say. This lasted for about twenty seconds.

Finally, Harry just started laughing. Hermione started laughing too, for who knows what reason.

"Relax, I don't like him like that," Harry said, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling, "Was a pretty good kiss, though." Harry projected as much innocence as he possibly could, as he looked at Hermione, "Also, I can apparently blush on command. Who knew?"

Hermione's sparkling laughter echoed through the classroom.

* * *

Harry stood on the top of the North Tower (the Astronomy Tower had been crawling with people - and worse, some of the couples had looked like they'd wanted his _participation_...). He wasn't sure, really, why he had let himself be upset with Remus Lupin. The man had condoned his friends bullying Snape, and he'd known it was wrong. Sirius (and, Harry presumed, his father) hadn't had a shred of remorse. Snape's eyes held rage and anger when looking at Sirius, always had. But Lupin? Snape despised Lupin, and that was a different matter entirely.

So, why had Harry ever dared to think that Lupin might have told him about Lily's Slytherin friend?

Maybe it was that Lupin was the nice one, the one who actually saw what they'd done was wrong.

It wasn't like Harry'd actually needed to know her friend's _name_. They could have just said, "He died during the war," and left it like that. _He might as well have, too._ Harry thought, seething. Surely his mom wouldn't have been friends with Snape-as-he-is-now,_ right_? It was hard to think of Snape as having any friends, including Mister Malfoy, whom Snape himself had referred to as a friend.

Harry let the feelings go, He knew now. He did, and that was a form of power in of itself.

_Now if only I can stop being so muddle-headed all the time._

Severus Snape had long ago forgotten how to smile. It probably had something to do with the brand on his left forearm.

Had he still remembered how, he might have smiled at the tomfoolery Malfoy and Potter had unleashed upon themselves. Of all the daft plans! Snape had originally considered which one had come up with it, before concluding that they'd both have to be involved to come up with something this cracked.

With a face still as stone, he buried the enjoyment deep, as both boys showed bewildered expressions as girls (and boys) flocked to them, flirting.

Even better, Malfoy was back in his own skin, so it wasn't Blaise dealing with the fools.

Snape's money sat squarely on Potter breaking first, though he thought Minerva would bet the other way. Malfoys were notoriously ill-tempered scoundrels, after all.

Snape had run across many foolish plans, but this one had backfired as spectacularly as he'd concluded it would. Minerva had had the same thought when he'd shared it with her - her cackling laughter had undoubtedly been heard throughout the castle.

Snape devoutly hoped that the reason Harry Potter had been so unbalanced wasn't Draco Malfoy. He rather thought it wasn't, but had to conclude that, for a Noble Gryffindor, having to deal with unrequited love _might just_ create enough of an emotional storm to rouse the Dark Lord himself.

Snape very much did not look forward to telling the Dark Lord that he'd been waken out of a sound slumber because of an Adolescent's Awkwardness with Lust. That _would not_ go well, at all.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, as Snape sipped his black coffee, his dark laughter echoed within his shields.

Minerva, stern though she was, could barely choke back the smile, resorting to looking into her cup frequently, allowing it to hide her delight.

Harry Potter had woken up to quite a few unpleasant realizations Monday morning.

1) The girls had not stopped flocking after him.

2) Slytherin girls were now also following him (though he'd had the rare good fortune to watch Parvati try to flirt with Malfoy - her dark Indian skin a brilliant contrast to Malfoy's alabaster-blue.)

3) Some, rather cutely blushing, younger boys had decided to try flirting with Harry. This was disturbing, both because Harry wasn't interested, and because he couldn't for the life of him figure out why they would be interested in him.

4) Harry really, really didn't want Snape to figure out that _Harry knew_.

5) Harry sincerely doubted his own ability to "act as though he knew nothing." Slytherins were sharp after all, and Snape was their Head of House for a reason.

Harry, however, was a Gryffindor, so instead of pissing himself with fear, he decided to plunge ahead doing as best as he could.

Oddly enough, his _abject ignorance_ of whatever the flipperty girls had been flirting with him about, _didn't actually upset any of them_. Apparently this made him "dreamy" and "Byronic" (_whatever that means_!).

Harry was going to need a new plan for dealing with the Entire Student Body trying to get him into the sack. The only bright side Harry could see was that Draco Malfoy was dealing with the same. (And, Harry thought, from the glares he was giving, that was _actually Malfoy_, and not Zambini). Only difference was Malfoy had managed to attract the older boys (also disturbing.) Harry made a mental note to not think about what the fuck this meant, and instead focus on fixing the problem.

Somehow.

* * *

Snape strode into the DADA classroom as usual, robes swirling behind him. "Put your homework on the podium, and break into groups of four." Oddly enough, it was Tracey Davis who spoke up, as most people were busy rustling their papers out of their bags, "How should we divide ourselves, sir? What will we be doing?"

Snape elected not to answer the second question, and answered the first in bored tones, "Divide by compatibility." Harry absently moved up to the front to hand in his homework, knowing that he'd been more thorough on this than he usually was. Well, this wasn't books, this was basically writing an essay about himself, and what he'd told his friends. Easy, right?

What wasn't so easy was coming up with people he was compatible with. Hermione? Ron? Ernie? Sue Bones? Malfoy? Knowing who he was compatible with was devilish tricky. At some point, he decided to just stand at the edge of the room, and pick a group that needed an extra man.

The Slytherin girls arranged themselves together, to no one's surprise. Seamus, Dean were together, looking for a partner set - Padma and Parvati joined them, and Harry had to fight back a smile. Those were two compatible pairs, but would they work well together?

Harry wound up in a group with Mandy, Morag, and Hermione. He figured he'd be the odd one out, but - it was better than trying to deal with Ron and Lavender, making kissy faces at each other. Harry didn't think they were terribly magically compatible, even if they seemed to fit together in other ways.

As the students sorted themselves into groups of four, Snape had quietly made his way toward the podium, where the homework assignments were being belatedly put (Hufflepuffs, in particular, having decided that "grouping up" was more important and time-critical than turning in the assignment).

Snape leapt onto the small raised platform from behind it, and that motion - or the sound - caught the attention of the room. Snape stood as if he'd been standing there all along, and asked, "Who lied on their homework?"

Sue Bones' eyes went wide at even the thought, although Hermione looked like she was trying to set Snape on fire with her eyes. Several of the Gryffindors (primarily Ron and Neville) looked very, very sheepish.

But none of them raised their hand.

Harry's eyes flicked towards the Ravenclaws, who looked mostly baffled, as they were scattered around the room.

The Slytherins, to a one, smirked, and raised their hands.

Harry had thought of lying, but had decided that he trusted Snape enough not to need to. This pagentry strongly suggested he'd been wrong, at least from a curriculum perspective.

Snape sneered at the room, "Did you perhaps forget that my loyalty to you has a time limit?" Snape's eyes raked the room, "That, past the end of this year, my occupation will no longer be wiping your noses and ensuring that you can survive?"

Snape's eyes flashed with dark thoughts, though he only sneered, "Most of you have been foolish enough to put enough blackmail material in here that I could have a quite profitable career out of the deal." Harry knew Snape was right in his case, unfortunately enough.

"Enough!" Snape said in a loud voice that somehow wasn't a shout. "_Caelum!_" he said, but Harry - who'd been nearer to the side of the podium than not, caught the motion of his wand, and that was _not the same spell_. The verbal spell lit the papers in deep violet fire, and they burnt to ash.

"You may all be thankful that, for the moment, my loyalty is to you, imbeciles and idiots included." Snape sneered. "Those cunning enough to lie shall receive extra credit." Harry knew, deep down in his heart, that he ought to be upset that the Slytherins were getting points for their house virtue, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. It was DADA, wasn't it? He ought to expect more points to Gryffindor, in the main, for being brave.

The room was nearly caught up in talking about what Snape had just done.

Nearly.

When Snape spoke, in his soft tones, and said, "Form equilateral triangles, with one of your four in the center. The central person is the fulcrum. The outer people should join hands, and merge their magic. The central person shall direct it."

The theory was in the textbook, Harry knew, though he wanted to consult it rather than just try to remember. However, this was a practical session, and he worried that just looking at the textbook might rouse Snape's ire. So, naturally, he asked Hermione, who had the textbook memorized, as usual.

Harry wouldn't have caught it last year, but he noticed now - several other groups nearby were listening, and Nott had his "I'm listening" face on, from halfway across the room. Snape might have bit anyone who dared to get out the book, but - even if the Slytherins sneered at the "Resident Know-It-All," they weren't above taking notes. Malfoy, interestingly enough, wasn't listening. Instead, he was talking quietly to his team, taking charge. Harry wrested his attention back to Hermione, who had only just now gotten to the part he'd not understood (or so he hoped).

It was a tough assignment, trying to meld magic together. Hermione said that people of the same element generally had the easiest time melding, and that the circle's function depended on the mindset and magic. Earth was generally the most controllable, followed by Life, with Air and Fire the most quixotic - they had a tendency to be wayward, even if you melded them properly.

_Had Snape just decided to let Hermione lecture?_ Harry thought.

It didn't really matter, as around people pulled themselves into circles. "Who's in the center?" Harry asked, and Hermione said, "I'll have a go first, and if that doesn't work, well, we can try everyone else."

Harry'd pictured the magic flowing, in an endless circle, drawing upon his wandless magic. But he couldn't feel it passing to Morag or Mandy. Slowly - for Harry's mind was busy with the magic, not just thinking, he closed his eyes. "Picture our hands like a great glowing circle. The magic flows around the circle, endlessly. Let the circle roll on."

Mandy and Morag apparently liked that last sentence, as they started repeating it. Harry hurriedly started synchronizing his voice with theirs. Continuously they said that for two whole minutes, before Morag broke off, "It isn't working."

"Try something else then," Hermione said impatiently.

"Picture the circle as a flow, then," Morag said, in her implacably reasonable tone. "It moves from me to Mandy to Harry and so on..."

Harry nodded.

"Feel yourself as part of the river, neverending, flowing around and around." Morag said.

Harry found this picture hard to keep in his head, even with his eyes closed. Let alone picture it actually working. "I can't do that one." Harry snapped, sounding more frustrated with himself than with her.

"Try this then," Mandy said, "We are three gems on a circle, all glowing, evenly, distributing bright white light."

Harry knew how to glow, but didn't have the ability to sense the other two. So he glowed - until Hermione started giggling.

Startled, Harry opened his eyes, discovering that he was literally glowing. His face flushed red with embarassment, as he said, "Sorry."

Further efforts yield no more positive results, though at least Harry hadn't started glowing like a lightning bug again.

"Your turn in the middle, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry hoped that she'd do better.

"Morag, take blue, Mandy take green, and I'll take red." Hermione instructed, "Picture us glowing, until Harry is illuminated in bright white light."

Harry soon learned where Hermione's impatience had come from - standing in the center watching zero results, not even a whisper, was damned frustrating. Particularly when you couldn't do anything until the others had their part solved.

Harry's sole consolation was that nobody, nobody else was actually solving this one. Harry's eyes tightened into slits. _That wasn't like Snape, to have something that no one could solve. Look deeper._

It was Morag's turn next, and then Mandy's. And then they all sat down and started talking, throwing out ideas and trying them one by one.

Not a single one worked.

Worse, it seemed the entire class was having trouble. Snape stalked around the class - Harry could see those black eyes taking notes, but not a single group seemed to be finding their sea legs.

Midway through the class, Seamus had started making fireballs (shooting them towards the ceiling), and Snape stormed over, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Venting," Seamus said.

"Perhaps you might consider venting in a way that's less detrimental to the rest of the class?" Snape sneeringly said.

Seamus switched to fireworks, which got him rather frequent glares, but not detention. Harry envied Seamus that - any sort of fun he'd had in class would NO DOUBT involve a forthcoming detention.

Harry turned his attention back to Morag, who was just now outlining a way to actually merge via a tetrahedron. Harry wasn't optimistic - Snape had said circle, after all, but he got to his feet and tried again.

Ten minutes before the end of class, at least a third of the class had stopped working, and they all seemed to have adopted Seamus' strategy of claiming to be "Venting."

Harry heard a double-thump, and looked up at the podium, behind which Snape was standing. "Not a single one of you thought to change groups." Snape sneered. "Dunderheads! Did you really think you're most compatible with those you're with?"

Everyone looked at each other, most looking abashed. Harry wasn't sure, however, who he would really mesh well with, so he didn't feel as bad. And Hermione and Morag and Mandy were people with similar personalities.

Snape sneered, saying quietly, "Goyle, Crabbe, Longbottom. Front and center, and _join hands_."

_Wait, what?_ Harry thought, his eyes widening.

The three assembled, Neville swallowed, nearly having to force himself to close hands with Draco's two goons. _Probably thought they're going to shatter his hands._

"All three of you, close your eyes." Snape said softly, "Draco Malfoy, take the center."

Draco did so with an arrogant smirk and toss of his hair as he ducked under. _Smarmy git_ Harry thought, knowing that Malfoy was bluffing.

"Think of Narcissa's garden," Snape said, his soft voice resembling a drone. "Picture it, how you felt, the oneness with nature."

It wasn't something you saw, or heard - but Harry could feel his hair standing on end, and almost a subtle ringing in his ears. _They got it._

"Take this seed," Snape said, handing it to Malfoy, "Make it grow."

Malfoy drew his wand, and breathed out an Herbology spell, letting the plant grow greenly upwards, and then bloom - a fireflower on the long stalk.

"Class dismissed." Snape said curtly. "Potter, remain."

Harry, who had been packing up his books to go (not that he'd really looked in them, but having them out seemed to settle the Ravenclaws and Hermione down, as if he'd actually been helping. Books didn't teach him much, but... ), looked up, and continued to put them away.

When everyone had left the room, except for Snape - behind the podium, and Harry himself, Harry approached, light on his feet and his wand in his hand, not quite ready to cast, but definitely wary. As he approached, the door closed behind him, and Harry could almost feel the secrecy spells swirling around himself.

"Sir?" Harry prompted.

Snape sneered, "As I have neither the time nor the inclination to sort through these, you may consider this your next assignment." Snape then flourished the homework assignments, drawing them out of the podium itself (a small ledge Harry hadn't noticed before).

"You did cast a second spell!" Harry exclaimed excitedly.

"You noticed." Snape said, sounding not at all surprised, "You'll find that people tend to assume papers set on fire will turn to ash. A simple duplication spell, hidden behind the podium." Harry nodded excitedly, and Snape continued, "The ability to cast two spells at once is useful in of itself, as you can see."

Harry blinked at that, realizing that Snape was saying more than he was saying - there was another reason he'd gotten that assignment. Better not to ask, Harry thought wryly.

Returning his attention to the papers, Harry eyed them like he would a snake about to strike, "What should I look for, sir?"

"Whatever you might find profitable." Snape said, slamming the pages down on top of the podium. "It goes without saying that you are not to let anyone else know that you have these pages."

Snape turned, as if to leave, and paused, turning only his head back towards Harry. "I wouldn't be sure, if I was you, that everyone told the truth in class today. And that includes the students who claimed they lied."

Snape left, and Harry quietly opened his bag, grabbing up his History of Magic book, and stuffing the pages inside, not caring that it would break the spine.

That evening, Harry's mind was more on Snape's 'homework assignment' than on the tryouts. That was okay, though, Harry reassured himself. He sat down with Hermione and nodded at Ron and Ginny and Angelina, "Why don't you guys give them a run for their money?"

"Aye-aye Cap'n!" Said Ron, who seemed determined to milk the title for all it was worth - for the one day Harry'd have it. Harry didn't mind. If he had the time to play, he would.

Everyone got to the air, including Ron and Ginny, and Harry watched the Chaser tryouts, tuning out everything else. His father had been a Chaser, but Harry'd never been big enough to manage it. Angelina and her two friends were still tops at the position - mostly through teamwork. Harry watched carefully as Angelina tried to break the news to two younger students Gavin and Mark. She had her hand on their shoulders, and even though they looked depressed, they quickly started a game of pickup seeking that Harry itched to play in.

The beaters were another story. Without the twins, nobody really had the bulk for the position. Gryffindors tended towards athletic, but apparently not quite that bulky. Ron was frowning at them but eventually selected Evan and Ian, two boys Harry'd never have picked, even though they did have more potential than the rest of the candidates. Harry'd have trouble ordering them around, and from above, the Seeker's traditional position, that would be disasterous.

Ron, however, would do better. He could see both of them, and by turning his head, identify who he was calling to, even if their names were easy to mistake.

Ron was the only candidate for the Keeper position, and Harry was quite glad that no one from the other Houses was here to jeer. Ron was a decent Keeper, but by no means extraordinary.

The extraordinary one was Gin Weasley, with her firebright hair whipping behind her. Harry wasn't trying out for Seeker, although he could tell that few people believed he wasn't playing.

Harry gathered all the returning players back, and said, "Okay, let's deal. Who's on, who's a good prospect, and who needs to stay off at all costs?"

Harry let the position players start to talk (Hermione, of course, drew up a chart), and ended it with "Ginny, take seeker."

"What, you don't want it?" Ginny responded teasingly.

"Too much work, and I don't quite mean school," He said, giving her a wink.

"Harry Potter, giving up flying?" Ginny's eyes sparkled as she teased him.

"Oh, I was thinking about teaching Malfoy a thing or two." Harry said, and Ginny smirked right back.

A second later, the rest of the team reacted, shouting things like "No, you can't!" - someone near the back even managed, "Traitor!"

Harry looked innocent and unfazed, and as they calmed down (Ron's face was still red), he said, "Suppose I should have offered to train you, Ginny?"

Ginny crossed her arms, and spoke with laughter in her voice, "As if! I can fly your pants off any day of the week."

"Aye," Harry said, "Maybe you just need glasses?"

Ginny drove a hard elbow into his side, and Hermione giggled nearby.

"Wont' teaching Malfoy give him an advantage?" Ron asked, his hands flexing but his voice calm.

"Not against Gryffindor." Harry said, "Gin's right, she flies better than me. I'm not giving him lessons on spotting the snitch"

Gin continued, "Yeah, he might manage to beat Hufflepuff, but he won't beat Cho just by improving how he flies..."

On top of the Astronomy tower, Harry Potter sat down and tried to imagine Minerva McGonagall telling him about his Mother. She'd only said a few things, none of it... really real. She'd mentioned friends, yes, but when it came right down to it, how close could they have been? Harry'd never seen any of them in his life. He figured that Hagrid had tried to write to them, but looking down at the picture album, Harry couldn't really see any pictures from when his Mum was younger than fifth year.

Had Snape been her only real friend?

Harry could see his Mum, who everyone said was lively and vivid, stubbornly clinging to a friendship that wasn't winning her any friends in her own house. Harry knew he was stubborn like that too, that someone who _did him right_ would be rewarded, if he could at all swing it.

Harry let out a bolt of lightning, thrusting his wand up towards the sky. It was just a symbol of how angry he was, seething really. He wanted to go and yell at Professor McGonagall, who he'd always trusted to be fair and honest.

Why had she lied to him?

She didn't need to tell him, not really, that it was Professor Snape. Harry'd asked about his Mum, not about her friends. Just hearing that she was friends with a Slytherin would have been enough. That alone said she was worthy of the House of Lions.

Loosing lightning apparently started thunderstorms, Harry thought wryly, as the November rain poured down on him. He let his tears fall, letting them be swallowed by the cold flagstones.

As he turned to head inside, well past curfew, he could see McGonagall, in cat form, watching from inside, out of a skylight.

"Mister Potter, have you had enough fresh air?" she said to him, as he tried to close the trapdoor, bringing in enough water that they both made wet footsteps as they went down the stair.s

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, blushing a bit in embarrassment. He'd been thinking such nasty things about her, and here she was waiting for him, watching to make sure he wasn't doing anything irresponsible, and having the good grace not to mention his tears.

* * *

Tuesday Evening, Draco Malfoy was heading back to the dungeons, all worn out from playing Tag with the Gryffindors.* He was trying to dodge the lily-loving flocks of girls (and, strangely, now boys) that kept on trying to get him to pick them up. As if Draco would reward such cowardice, he smirked.

From behind him, he heard the slightest whisper of a shoe-clad foot on stone. Instantly, he ducked into a nearby alcove, hoping that he hadn't been spotted by whichever girl was wandering this time of night.

Instead, Snape came out of the darkness, into the moonlit alcove, "Mister Malfoy, I was hoping to speak to you." he said gravely.

"Of course, sir." Draco Malfoy said.

As they proceeded downstairs, Snape said snidely, "I hope you are enjoying the fruits of your little prank with Potter."

Draco Malfoy sighed, well aware that Snape knew it hadn't gone as planned, "Not really. It didn't go as planned."

"That would be an understatement," Snape said, smirking and looking smug. Which was ordinarily a look Draco liked to see on the old potions master - but this time, well, Snape was laughing at him. And potter, but that went without saying.

Snape and Draco traded other gossip on the way downstairs, discussing prospects without directly mentioning names or allegiances. Draco was pessimistic about Bones, but figured Hopkins was a decent backup. He didn't see anyone in Gryffindor, but Snape shook his head, "Parvati will come along with Padma if you time it right."

At last, they reached the Potion Master's Office, Snape opened the door and Draco waltzed in.

Snape closed the door, and Draco only realized something was wrong when Snape didn't immediately stride over to his desk. Draco restrained himself from whirling, instead looking back to see Snape's unique blend of air and water spells to ensure privacy. Draco instantly knew this was serious, and grew wary. What could be more serious than what they had just been discussing?

Snape, at last, returned to his desk, standing behind it rather than sitting down. "Draco, over the weekend, you mentioned that you'd had a bet with Potter."

"I did, sir," Draco Malfoy said, fighting back the concerned crook of his eyebrows. He was instantly curious about why Snape was taking a personal interest. He couldn't already know, could he?

"What was the nature of said bet?" Snape asked.

"Potter had heard, somewhere, that you had a friend in Gryffindor, of all places," Draco smirked, "The bet was on whether or not that was true."

Snape's eyes seemed, for a moment, to go completely dead, as if he was thinking deeply behind thickly occluded shields.

Then his eyes sharpened, as he asked calmly, "I suppose you asked your mother?"

"Of course, sir," Draco Malfoy said, and couldn't resist probing, "Should I have come to you first, sir?"

Snape sighed, pulling his hair out of his eyes, "No, asking your mother was fine. I don't suppose she told you anything?"

Draco's eyes sliced thin, for a brief second. _He doesn't want me to know, and mum didn't want me to know..._ "No, the note was directed to Potter, who told me I'd lost the bet." Draco turned doe-innocent eyes towards Snape, and asked, "I don't suppose you'd tell me, would you sir?"

"You know me better than that," Snape said, in obvious dismissal. Draco's eyes found Snape's body suspiciously still, and Snape was normally a silent and still person. Something about how he was sitting there, reminded Draco of a crouching feline, ready to spring.

*Wizarding tag uses stinging hexes.

[a/n: And the Penny drops. You'll understand why Draco isn't in trouble in a bit...]


	28. All good things die

Severus Snape had let his mind go blank, as soon as Draco Malfoy had mentioned _just what exactly that bet had been about_. It was a defense mechanism. He'd responded to Draco's questions by rote, the responses as automatic as not thinking.

It was only once Draco Malfoy had closed the door, and Snape had replaced the secrecy spells - not the same as with Draco, either. These were tinged with fire, explosive to any who dared to attempt to breech them, that he let himself begin to feel.

Disappointment was_ always_ a bitter pill to swallow. Snape _knew_ that, knew he shouldn't have _bothered_ with a child.

He was infuriated, but mostly with himself. _Damnation!_ He'd thought he'd gotten through to the child.

No, it was plainly obvious he hadn't. What could possibly have possessed him to ask Draco Malfoy?! Of all people!

He'd let himself hope, again. He should have known better - all good things die, and all the quicker if they're around Severus Snape.

Harry Potter was impossible - had always been, truth be told. But, after this, Snape had to conclude that he was unsalvageable.

Snape disliked being wrong, admitting to being wrong.

But he had been _very wrong_ about Potter, and his potential.

* * *

Snape let the dark emotions weigh on him, as he stared at his desk, for probably longer than he should.

At some point, he buried his head in his arms, feeling as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

* * *

_Damn it all_, he'd still have to have words with Potter, lest the fool think to ask more questions.

Snape's mouth quirked up in a display of dark humor, as he started to scrawl on the foolscap beneath his head. He knew just the punishment he intended to inflict upon young Harry Potter.

Not that Snape expected Potter to learn, no.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

The next day was bright and cheerful, Harry taking his morning run at near daybreak. He saw McGonagall wave her tail at him from one of the first floor classrooms, and waved back. He was back and showered before everyone woke up, even.

It was the start to a beautiful day.

Unfortunately, there were classes to be dealt with, as he'd rather have been out on a broom, or playing with Fang, or anything else outside, even Aunt Petunia's roses (which had only been really horrid during the summer, all that sweat and nothing to drink but the hose, which always made him feel like a dog.).

Snape's defense class seemed to go on forever, Harry thought, as the entire class tried to find circles that would work. Well, aside from Greg, Neville and Crabbe - they were working just fine, and trying to find what they could do with other people.

Harry'd stepped into the middle of their circle, but even thinking of Aunt Petunia's roses didn't seem to do anything at all.

The rest of the class couldn't even form a single circle, not even when Anthony had sorted everyone and made sure they tried Every. Single. Combination.

It was frustrating to an extreme, and more so, Harry could feel Snape's eyes on the class, diligently taking notes in his head. Harry was starting to feel a little like Neville - that itch in the back of your head when you know someone is watching. And it didn't even stop when Snape was looking at someone else.

Near the end of class, Susan Bones had stood in the middle of the one working circle, and as she closed her eyes, slipped into the floor up to her waist. She hadn't even realized she was doing it until she opened her eyes, either. "HELP!" she shrieked, "I'm in the FLOOR!"

As Snape strode over, robes swirling, other people laughed - Harry did too, after taking Snape's measure and concluding that it couldn't be that serious, he didn't even look as angry as when Neville melted cauldrons, and Neville did that routinely.

"What did you do?" Snape snapped.

"I was trying to become... one, I guess. Fade into my surroundings, be a part of everything." Susan said, her tone befuddled.

Snape incanted a long incantation, and the stone turned to water around her, as he grabbed her arm with his left hand and dragged her up. "Don't step there," he said unnecessarily.

That was the end of the excitement for the lesson, however, as the next fifteen minutes were spent with fruitless attempts, particularly Su Li, who insisted she'd get it, somehow. Snape's lips had thinned at that comment, so Harry figured the odds were slim.

"Potter, stay behind." Snape's slick as stone voice said.

As the room cleared, Harry fingered his homework in his bag. He'd written it, and then charmed it invisible. As the last person left, the door slammed shut. Snape began to weave privacy spells, as he often did. Harry's eyes narrowed, though, when he noticed that they weren't the same privacy spells. He raised a hand, almost as if to touch one - despite it being yards away, and Snape responded absently, still casting, "Don't touch. These wards singe."

Harry eyed them with a newfound caution, and only approached Snape when Snape was done casting. "My homework." he said, laying them down on the podium.

Snape waved a casual hand, and the pages burst into flame. "Either you've learned something, or you haven't." he said, in that obsidian voice.

Harry just nodded, "Yes sir."

Snape eyed Harry like a bug, stating after a moment, "Someone's been asking questions they shouldn't."

_Shite! Snape knows._ Harry Potter hadn't planned on this, hadn't come up with anything other than don't let him find out. Adrenaline leaped into Harry's nervous system, as his heart raced. Harry was just starting to formulate a denial, when he realized that he'd probably already shown enough to make it an Extremely Obvious Lie.

"Worse, you asked said questions of one Mister Draco Malfoy." Snape drawled, his voice as cold as ice. "I can only begin to imagine what you were thinking." Snape said, shaking his head. He spoke quietly, as he normally did, but Harry's heart hurt at the brilliant look in his eye - a darkling fire, sparkling within those inky eyes.

"To lay this matter to rest, I suppose I should say something to quell any more irresponsible, idiotic questions you might think up next." Snape said, starting the sentence sounding slightly irriitated, but finishing it in a sort of icy cold fury.

Harry found his mouth wanting to open, wanting to say that he knew better, now. But clearly he hadn't known better after Sirius...

"You may thank whatever gods you please that this particular secret is not one I wish concealed from the Dark Lord, or you'd be walking out of here this instant, your mind relieved of the memory." Snape said curtly, and Harry didn't doubt for a second that he'd do exactly what he'd said. Harry quickly curbed any desire on his own part to think about Snape's words.

"Nonetheless, the secret you have unearthed touches on a great many things that you're not cleared to know the truth of." Snape said, his body leaning over Harry's. Harry had to crane his neck to look up into Snape's face, nearly looking up his nostrils. Snape spun away, taking two steps away from Harry before turning back.

Snape smirked devilishly, "So I'm going to tell you a story that is nothing but a pack of lies. So you don't get the wrong idea."

Harry suppressed a sigh. Slytherins made his head hurt, and Snape more than the rest. Still, this was going better than he'd thought. Snape was still speaking to him, after all. Slytherins didn't take kindly to purloined secrets.

"I first met your mother on the Hogwarts Express, and when she asked which House I'd want to be in, all I could think was "yours." " With Snape's melodic voice talking, it was strange for Harry to think this was a lie. But it was. It sounded too sweet - definitely too sweet for Snape, and maybe too sweet for his mum.

"Not long after, the Marauders piled into our cabin - I was reading one of my mother's books, and they immediately decided it was Dark magic." Snape said, his tone wry, "I'm not certain they'd ever looked at a book before. The Marauders wanted the cabin to themselves, and your mother was all up for leaving, but I didn't take kindly to being pushed around, even at age eleven. "

Harry smiled, "So you fought back, two against four?"

"More accurately, I started making as much commotion as possible, figuring that some authority figure would drop in."

"It didn't work?" Harry responded.

"Not the way it was intended, no - the prefect stopped the commotion, but the Marauders held a grudge indefinitely." Snape continued, "Your mother and I were thick as thieves, we were practically each other's only friends. Back then House ties were not quite as binding as they are now." Harry belatedly translated that as "just as bad" remembering that Snape was lying...

"We were frequent targets of the marauders, and a friendship born from adversity is a strong one indeed." Harry nearly smiled at that one, remembering Hermione and Ron.

"Growing up, it was only natural that I started to develop feelings for her, and that just increased the Marauder's abuse." As Sanpe said that, Harry wanted to tell him to stop, to pause, because, it suddenly became clear to Harry - this was what Snape had been talking about, in terms of "telling a lie so Harry doesn't get the wrong idea." Harry wanted to say that he hadn't even considered that - not as an insult, but just as the truth.

"James Potter was in love with your mother from third year on," Snape said, continuing along with the story, "It made things more difficult than they needed to be - he saw me as a rival as much as an enemy."

Snape continued, "You saw what happened in the pensieve that day - after I called her that name, she wouldn't talk to me. We didn't meet as friends again." Harry blinked, trying to sort through what was a lie, and what was truth, or, more inscrutably, obscured truth.

Having concluded his story, Snape simply said, looking as impassive as he'd ever seemed, "I am disappointed in you. I believed you'd learned your lesson, after the last time." Snape strode over, looming over Harry, "Rest assured, you will be punished. Look behind you, you won't be expecting it." Snape sent a smirk Harry's way, and then his face smoothed.

"As of now, Potter, we are quits. Would that I were in charge of the Order Membership, or I would be booting you from there too. I can't work with someone I can't trust." Snape's angry eyes looked down at Harry Potter, and without waiting for a response, Snape strode out through the privacy wards, leaving the scent of singed hair and fabric in his wake.

Harry had the oddest feeling that the last sentence Snape had said to him, was the closest thing Harry would ever get to a personal comment from Snape.

Harry got through most of the rest of the day's classes by simply Not Thinking. Whenever his mind would wander, he'd find a whorl on the desk in front of him. Even when they were doing Herbology and he really ought to have paid attention.

Dinner left Harry with a problem - not that people wanted to talk with him, but that he Definitely didn't want to go to DADA Club, or whatever Zach was calling it. Harry looked at Hermione, and twisted the truth a little, "I won't be there tonight," and then he made the order sign. Nearly unconsciously, he looked up at the Head Table, finding only McGonagall watching him curiously.

"Does Dumbledore have a job for you?" Hermione asked, leaning in. Ron copied her, though Lavender pouted across the table at her conversation being interrupted.

"No," Harry said, "Just working on something."

Hermione nodded, and fingered her 'not a wand.'

Deciding that the best lie was one that she already wanted to believe, Harry nodded. Harry supposed you could call venting "Order Business" - when your head is a direct conduit to Lord V himself.

"I'll cover for you," Ron said, and then turned back to Lavender as if the conversation hadn't existed.

* * *

After dinner, Harry headed up, not to the Astronomy tower, but to the north Tower. He'd figured out a decent spell for climbing walls, and he wanted to give it a try. A good sweat might help get his emotions out too. If the twins were still in school, he'd have considered swiping some Port or Sherry for them, just to have something to boast about. Alas... Harry really needed to read what they'd been writing him. He'd been too busy to even read them, and they always brought a smile to his face.

Harry wasn't feeling like smiling right now. Instead, he cast a sure-stick spell on his hands. He'd practiced earlier, and was pretty sure this wasn't a PermaStick charm. That had been embarrassing, because both his hands had been stuck, and it had taken him a while to discipline his mind to cast the right counter.

It was sweat and pain, climbing the chinks in the tower, two stories up, to throw himself on top of the tower. Harry stayed prone for five minutes, regaining his breath and his mental balance.

Then he stood up, his head in the crisp November breeze, looking out past all of Hogwarts as he turned around.

For a few moments, he was spellbound by the grandeur.

Then he cast a simple reflection spell, designed for sound. he cast it as a parabola, starting from his feet.

Like a wolf, Harry opened his mouth skyward, and screamed a barbaric yawp towards the unblinking, unforgiving stars. He screamed until his throat hurt, and went beyond, pushing his breath and his breathing until he nearly fell unconscious.

Wavering, with black spots dotting his vision, Harry thought furiously to himself, _I didn't even say ANYTHING!?_

He was incensed at himself for the obvious. He hadn't apologized, he hadn't justified, he hadn't even tried to mitigate or assuage Snape's anger.

Harry nodded slightly, _That probably has something to do with the anger being justified._

In the empty dark reaches of his newly-purged soul, Harry realized that he'd never been so upset with Something Snape'd Done. And Snape had done loads of completely indefensible acts. But no, it was the justified one that hurt.

_He'd been warned_. Harry thought, feelings threatening to encircle his mind again. Biting his cheeks till they bled, he began to punch the flagstone beneath his feet.

Harry didn't want to feel anything but pain. Pure and physical.

Harry's knuckles were crusted over with blood. He'd ask Hermione to fix them in the morning - she was always better at healing charms.*

Leaving the top of the North tower was easier than scaling it, that was for sure. Harry felt nearly numb - like he'd left all his feelings - _all of them_ \- up on the rooftop. It felt serene, peaceful even. Harry went down the stairs with the silent surety of a young man used to cats.

Harry just wanted to go to sleep.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to laugh at him today. Harry turned the last bend of the way down from the tower, only to nearly run into Draco Malfoy. As they were both out well past curfew, Harry stared at Malfoy, baffled.

"Malfoy, what are you-" Harry started, almost on autopilot. Then he forcibly stopped himself, giving a sigh from his heels. "You know what? Never mind. Whatever it is, I'm not dealing with it now."

Harry went to move past Malfoy, but the platinum blond moved, just enough to stand in Harry's way.

Harry gave a five second long sigh, rubbing his eyes, and only just remembering that Malfoy would pick up on his bloody knuckles.

Blessedly, Malfoy didn't say anything about that. Instead, he smirked, and asked, "Oh, come now, aren't you even a little curious about how I knew to wait for you here?"

Harry stared flatly at Malfoy. "You. were looking. for me." In bafflement, he shook his head, tossing black hair into his face. "Whyever for?" Harry didn't really know what he looked like, without staring in a mirror, but Malfoy flinched. In tones lacking humor or any other emotion, Harry thought, _Bully for me, I broke his facade._

"To ask if I'd done wrong, and if so, to make it right." Draco Malfoy said firmly.

Almost despite himself, Harry studied Malfoy, up and down. Absently, Harry wondered if this was how Snape looked sometimes - Harry certainly felt dead enough to have absolute zero eyes, even if his were grass-green not inky-black.

Tired, and worn out, Harry found the inner wall of the tower and leaned against it, "What could you possibly have done wrong?" The question was impregnated with dry wit, the sound of a Gryffindor that know Slytherins are always doing something wrong.**

"The bet," Draco Malfoy said, eyeing Harry.

Harry shook his head - sending his hair cascading into his eyes, and then nodded, "It was a bad idea, but it was my idea." Harry turned brightly cold eyes on Malfoy, who seemed to be trying to exude all the calmness that Harry lacked.

In tones etched with chagrin, Draco Malfoy said with a piscine voice used to water and waves, "I thought you were asking about something... you already knew."

Harry somberly shook his head. "And what, I was asking to expose your ignorance?"

Draco looked a little unsure of himself, "Something like that," he smirked.

Harry had no answer to that, and was a little startled when Malfoy turned those storm-grey eyes on him. "You shouldn't have pried."

Harry Potter gave Malfoy an incendiary look.

Malfoy had a light smirk on his face when he spoke next, "Shouldn't have poked the bear. There are some questions even Slytherins know better than to ask."

Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten, looking balefully at Malfoy, who he wanted to escape immediately.***

"Some secrets are meant to stay just that." Malfoy's eyes nearly sparkled with amusement, that light smirk on his face that Harry suddenly wanted to pound into the dirt.

Harry's hands turned into fists, and he turned to meet Malfoy's gaze head on, "You think I don't know that?" he hissed.

"You're a Gryffindor," Malfoy said, as if this explained anything, "Heads hard as rocks, and with enough determination to sometimes forget to check if they're wrong." Malfoy smirked something that was almost a smile. "Well, my work here is done."

Malfoy took two steps away from Harry before he turned around. _Now what? _Harry fumed. _I just want to get to bed._

Harry Potter closed those two steps in one bound, bringing his face precisely 3 millimeters from Malfoy's. "Go away, Malfoy. If you don't, I'll punch you, and I don't want to punch you right now."

Malfoy took two studied paces backwards, "Why don't you want to punch me?"

"Because when I punch you I want to enjoy it." Harry Potter said, and was momentarily gratified to see Malfoy's face cloud over with thought.

Suddenly, Malfoy's head nodded crisply, and harry could see the moment his thoughts changed. Malfoy's face took on an easy, laughing smirk, "You weren't at ... today. Surprising, that. Woulda figured you'd want to watch me teach the first time."

Harry's face didn't change as he shot back, "If only to murder you along with the rest of the Gryffs."

Draco snorted, and said, "I'm not much of a shoulder to cry on, but if you need someone to break your nose, or you just need someone's nose to break, I'll be there."

It was a lie, plain and simple. but it was a sweet lie. Harry was growing to hate sweet lies.

Harry strode off, leaving his back wide open to Malfoy without a second thought.

If Malfoy tried a sneak attack, Harry would kill him. And that was that.

Instincts were a bitch to retrain, and There Was A War On.

Harry wouldn't apologize for what needed to be done.

Harry's lily was transparent - not white, but clear. Luna Lovegood frowned as she saw him heading towards Gryffindor. _That's not the right way, _she thought.

Harry's knuckles still hurt, but he was just world-weary and worn-out. He stumbled up to Gryffindor, and barely made it to his bed before he collapsed in a state of unconsciousness.

* * *

Severus Snape was not a man to regret his choices. He was a careful man, and weighed choices before acting, so why should he ever feel remorse for doing what was right? Severus Snape made mistakes, as did anyone. But, the difference between a spy and an assassin is how many mistakes your team's made today. One fuckup means someone's gotta die. And deaths were both messy and noticeable. Proper spies specialized in being quiet. Snape was a proper torturer too, though he really didn't advertise the fact. The best torturers, after all, leave no mark on the victim.

Still, Snape had expected to hear something out of the perpetually outraged and indignant Potter. He'd thought he could puzzle out what was going on, but without even a word, Snape was as lost in the fog of war as any man.

Harry woke the next day in a mood. A dark, inky black, grim death march kind of mood. It wasn't despair, nor true melancholia. It was like anger with the edge taken off, dulled because it would hurt more.

Harry knew one thing about himself: He liked to vent.

And this was a pretty big problem, as he couldnt't tell Hermione or Ron.

And, with how horrid Harry was at lying, he was quite sure that they'd be demanding answers as quickly as they could.

Harry found himself nearly vibrating with energy, but instead of going for a run, he took his broom to the pitch.

Harry was in the wind, and that was usually enough to bring him to his happy place, where the biggest concern was the next buffet of wind, the next gust, or that tree over there.

That tree.

Harry'd managed to be halfway to the Forbidden Forest, just by not paying attention.

That was a bad thing.

Harry closed his eyes, thinking some things through.

When he opened them again, he was at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry didn't want to go into the forbidden forest.

With an Oath that was more a curse, Harry's feet hit the ground, his left hand grasping his broom overhand.

Harry could trust his feet, always had.

Feet were fleet, and they'd kept him safer from Dudley than his mouth ever had.

Harry kicked off, jupmping up and landing on his broom.

Then, as he headed back to the pitch, he began practicing mounts and dismounts.

It was far tougher than just flying, or even just running.

Harry found himself glad that Snape hadn't targetted him that day.

He stumbled into Gryffindor Tower covered in sweat that dried as he walked.

* * *

Cats have a danger sense. Hackles rise, and they look for trouble. When cats are afraid, they get big, fluffing their fur - and shedding it. This wasn't quite that, though. This was the air before a thunderstorm, electric and impending.

Minerva was on one of her usual "basking places" - in reality, she liked to measure the school. She was far from lazy, after all. It was just that being a small tabby cat with far better ears than her human form was such a delight!

Still if something felt this wrong, she'd have to figure out what it was, and address it. Rising to her feet, she craned her head down. _Was that Potter, with a broom?_

Harry tumbled down the stairs to breakfast, all his usual grace shed in his exhausted state. And he still had a full day of class to go. Charms was going to be doing something interesting, he just knew it. As was usual when Harry was completely exhausted because of circumstances outside his control, he'd simply ask Hermione. The twisting in his belly, however, wanted to tell him something else. That this wasn't outside of his control, and that he should feel guilty.

Harry had tried that last night, had pounded his fists until that lily Luna gave him had turned completely transparent. Today, though, he was actually looking forward to seeing Draco Malfoy. Maybe figure out what he'd wanted to say. Maybe just put his face through the bastard's nose. Try not to kill him, though, because that would just get messy. Not that anyone could really be upset for Harry The Chosen One for killing Draco The Death Eater. But as two schoolchildren, Harry could and would be blamed. Possibly expelled.

Harry's head was starting to itch, on the side towards the high table. He looked up, to see Snape's ugly mug turning towards Pomona Sprout. In of itself, that was odd, because Snape's lack of morning cheer meant he generally just did the whole Silence While Eating. Harry wasn't going to think about that, though, was he? No, Harry thought, turning back to his own breakfast.

Not twenty seconds later, he could feel that itch again. Up his eyes flicked, to find Snape sugaring his tea.

Great.

Snape was glaring fiery doom at him, and trying to avoid Harry seeing it.

The hell?

Snape obviously thought something was wrong, and Harry was at the heart of it.

Mentally, Harry took an inventory:

Near Madness? Not this year, Harry was pretty sure, though Tommy might think differently.

Near-death escapades? Not even once.

Insatiable Curiosity? Bingo.

But, Harry had really expected Snape to ignore him, not start playing 'eyetag.'

Something was wrong with this picture.

Normally...

Well, yesterday... Yesterday he'd simply have asked.

Huh.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Snape had something Potter-related on his mind, and he wanted answers. But he, being the prideful and stubborn bastard that he was, was unwilling to actually talk with Harry. Harry knew all about pride and stubbornness, he had several scars to prove it.

Maybe it was something important.

Harry struggled with the idea that Snape would let a fit of fury doom innocent lives.

This was Severus Snape.

Of course he would.

_I can't trust you._

Well, then dose me with veritaserum, or aren't you a Potions Master? Harry would, if he could have caught Snape's gaze, tried to throw that thought bodily across the Great Hall.

Alas, it was not to be.

Harry was in a mood, and his friends knew to stay far far away from him when he was in a mood.

Unless they'd determined, like Gryffindors, to plunge straight into the madness and chaos. Which was often.

Not today, though.

Maybe it had something to do with the violet-green his lily was flashing at everyone.

* * *

Un-luckily for Harry, not everyone was his friend.

In this case, he'd been heading to his dorm after Dinner (not that he was supposed to do that, he was supposed to be with Ron and Hermione - also Draco, who Harry was trying not to think about, as the fantasy of punching him in the gob was just too tempting).

In this very instant, Harry was flying. From a foot that hadn't been there a moment ago. Flying down the stairs to be specific. Training took over - old training, strangely, _hide your head, you're a ball._ Just like with Dudley.

Harry hit something soft and vaguely sticky. He tried to reorient himself before thinking to stand. Un-fortunately, he was picked up bodily, and someone was cheerfully whistling _The Wild Rover_, which made Harry vaguely itch. His friends didn't like that kind of music. _Who did?_

The sight of that blond hair gave Harry his answer. _Draco Malfoy. _Who is accosting me, here in a hallway, when he could have - if I was going there, at least - caught me in the Room.

Harry had his hand on his wand, as he struggled out of the sack=like entity Draco had put him in.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said, "Just give me a reason to punch your lights out."

Draco sneered, "Shouldn't that be a reason not to punch my lights out?"

"As if," Harry said, his left hand in a fist, that he lightly tapped against his thigh.

One thing about Slytherins, they understood body language. "I need you to get a message to the Defense Club." Draco Malfoy said quickly. "Tell them to watch where they step."

And that, that was curious. "Why? And why would I tell them for you? Just tell them yourself?" Harry snapped.

"Snape's increasing surveillance." Draco said, and Harry nodded mutely. He'd think about why when his head wasn't about to explode.

"So why not tell them yourself? you've got a coin..." Harry groused.

Draco's smirk was nearly a smile, "I don't want them trusting me." Draco Malfoy shoved his hands roughly in his pockets, "You wanted me to teach, this is my task. Now let them know that they'll be hunted. I'll set up the stalking."

Draco Malfoy didn't wait for Harry to respond, which was probably just as well. Harry still wanted to punch Malfoy, but was cautiously interested in... whatever lesson this was.

Harry suddenly figured going back to his dorm was a very bad idea. He could, he could try, but that meant dealing with Ron.

Besides, Malfoy, for all he was a giant arsehole most of the time, had a point. A different point than he thought he was making, but still.

Harry was _fairly_ certain Malfoy didn't know Snape had asked Harry to make the DA. _Fairly_ sure Malfoy thought Snape was being serious about catching them (he wasn't, obviously, or they'd be caught).

Training.

Malfoy wanted to run one side.

Well, Harry had always liked black in chess. Go second, watch, wait, _react_.

Harry dug in his pocket, pulling out a galleon.

War Council time.

When the other side pounced, Harry wanted to be _ready_.

There were a lot of mouse holes around Hogwarts, weren't there? Harry began to slowly smile. This was going to be _fun_.

And nothing like last year.

Tomorow, they'd plan the war.

Harry slept well that night, finding himself as a cat - or a mouse, but either way, not interacting with anyone he knew. Which was good, because he really, really didn't want to be interacting even with Ron or Hermione - or Luna or Neville.

Among people who didn't sleep well that night: The silly girls Harry'd terrified with a death glare - and then subsequently stalked up to, and informed them that if they didn't stop thinking about him, that he'd visit them in their sleep, and it would Not Be Fun.

Harry had to smother a grin after that, but at least those girls would probably stop following him. He'd been lucky to dodge them so far, in fact. Lucky that no one had seen Malfoy dragging him bodily into an alcove. That'd lead to either awkward questions from Lavender (hopefully NOT about mechanics Harry didn't so much as want to think about), or a drop-down hexing fight between Ron and Malfoy. Also awkward, just differently so.

Harry had always been the type to pick at wounds. He figured everyone knew that about him. He was curious what was underneath things, always had been (even if it had taken Hogwarts to explain Aunt Petunia).

Harry was going to turn over a new leaf.

Today.

He was not going to twist, and turn, and harangue himself about Snape's... anger. hurt, rejection. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Instead, he was going to make Plans!

Because, as Malfoy had so kindly pointed out, there was a hunt upcoming.

Harry intended to be ready. Who to grab, who to work with. He knew the usual suspects, so his mind lingered longest on Pansy Parkinson, that beautiful knife of a gilrl, well practiced in using the feminine arts as a distraction.

Harry nodded slowly. Malfoy was the only Slytherin in Snape's "extra credit" project.

Now, Harry just needed a good way to talk with Pansy. She wasn't in any of his classes except Herbology, and that would mean waiting till Tuesday to talk with her. That was just unacceptable.

He'd have asked Ron or Hermione, but he really, really didn't think she was in Ancient Runes or Arithmancy (or Muggle studies for that matter).

No, the best bet was to snatch her right after breakfast.

Which meant getting through breakfast. That had one major problem, and two minor ones.

First, he couldn't skip breakfast. Not that he would miss the food (though he would), but Ron had been giving him looks all morning long, and that just meant that if he slipped the leash, he'd have Ron to deal with. And probably Hermione too. If only Lavender could distract Ron enough to get him to not notice... Futile thoughts were best ignored.

Second, he had to deal with his friends, which was difficult, when he was this... off-kilter. He didn't want to snap at them, or convince them that he was crazier than he actually is. Luckily, Hermione brought a book to breakfast, so after Harry admitted (lied!) about feeling a bit off the last few days (pukey), he could easily steer her to a discussion of - Wizarding Law it was! Really, Harry had never conceived of something so boring, and with so many precedents. At least Hermione seemed happy. Ron wasn't required to pay attention, both because he hadn't started the lecture, and because Lavender was busy playing octopus with him (Yes, at the Breakfast Table). Harry envied Ron.

Third, Harry was dealing with those increasingly quicksilver glares from Snape - Harry never seemed to be able to catch Snape's eyes. That wasn't the problem part. The problem part was in distracting himself sufficiently that he didn't think about Snape.

*Yes, Harry does remember she doesn't have her wand.

**wrong, not evil. Distinction.

*** Malfoy escape Potter, to be clear.


	29. The game's afoot

Harry Potter rose for his normal (now quite boring) run around the castle. He tried to tell himself that he didn't miss Snape's hounding (or pouncing). He couldn't even convince himself of that, though. He found himself leaping over places with bad footing (and with his arms tucked in, so he could flail away a hard landing).

Harry was done venting, and really could use a sounding board. The only problem was, there was nobody he could talk to.

Oh, he could just imagine the look on Ron's face. You-He? He's turned you into a traitor the greasy git."

And then Harry would respond, "He's a spy, not a dark lord"

"Yes, but he's turned you to HIS side!"

... except that was kinda sorta maybe true. It had seemed so simple, when Snape had asked him to find a way to get the houses talking to each other. Forming the DA had been fun, too.

It had to be when Snape had split a gasket over the newly-reformed Illicit Defense Club.

Harry'd made a decision without even knowing it. It had felt good to be useful, to be doing something - for the war? Harry hadn't even asked what his assignments were for, come to think of it. Knowing Snape, it wouldn't just be for a fucking prank.

At least there was that.

Oh, Harry thought, his stomach twisting He could try telling Hermione. Except Hermione would just hex him silly, for what he'd done. Not that Harry wouldn't deserve it, but ... Hermione was the one who had stolen Snape's books off Madame Pince's desk. She'd seemed so proud of herself, too.

And Harry didn't really know anyone else that well. Except Neville, or Luna, or Ginny.

And Ginny would flip out. Her temper was legendary - and Harry felt that getting Snape hexed was probably not a good way to increase his life expectancy.

Neville was still afraid of Snape, at least a little bit, and Harry didn't want any hero worship because he'd done something Completely Boneheaded.

Luna would listen, but she never seemed wholly in this world in the first place.

Or, if Harry REALLY wanted a laugh, he could have a go telling Draco Malfoy. Oh, boy, that'd go over well. "Oh, yes, this is really what you were asked to look up!" and furthermore "Your Head of House has been playing you for a bigger fool than I am."

Malfoy wouldn't hex. He'd use poison.

Harry was dressed and ready, earlier than usual. He shook the rest of his roommates awake, and they tumbled out of bed, looking rumpled or dog-tired AND frazzled.

"Wha-?" Ron managed.

Neville, always a little more clearheaded in the mornings, asked, "What's wrong?"

Harry stood, like a drill sergeant, "Malfoy says Snape's turning the screws on this Defense Club of ours."

"And you believe him?" Dean, of all people, asked. Harry hadn't been expecting that. Dean was quieter than Seamus, and Neville was more inclined to doubt Malfoy in particular. Had more reason too.

"I do. He didn't need to give me the heads up."

"Why you?" Neville and Ron asked at once - Ron looking strategically, and Neville just honestly confused.

Seamus, being Seamus, asked, "I figure it's because they're necking..."

Harry grabbed a pillow off the nearest bed, and flung it at Seamus. Then a second, and then the bedsheets and blankets at once, until Seamus was entirely buried under them, and flailing to get out. "Just no," Harry said, firmly.

"Ideas, spit em out." Harry said, trying to act like he knew what he was doing. In reality he was just aping various Military Movies Uncle Vernon and Dudley liked to watch.

Either way, it seemed to work.

"Malfoy's got the prefect level and higher students..." Neville started.

"And we've got third years in the mix," Ron said, 'That should be our first priority. Finding ways to keep them out of trouble."

Harry asked, "How about we all keep out of trouble."

"Twenty Gryffindors stay out of trouble?" Seamus asked, with a guffaw. "Not likely!"

"Let's see about spreading the word, and coming up with what ideas we can." Harry said.

Neville quietly asked, "Why aren't you asking Hermione."

And that, that was a good question. Not that Harry had an answer, but one fell into his head as he starte d to think. Handy, that. "If I asked Hermione, we'd get one solution. I want all the solutions, so let me tell Hermione, okay?"

Neville nodded.

Ron asked, "You don't think her solution will be better than the rest of ours put together?"

Harry smiled briefly, "Yes, and no. She'd find a comprehensive solution. But that's just what I don't want. I want us all thinking, planning, coming up with new ways of solving this problem. Because relying on any one person is very, very dangerous." Harry knew that all too well, as the supposed Chosen One. Abruptly, he steered his thoughts away from there.

"Let's go, but remember, you've got till Monday. Plenty of time to barnstorm up some ideas." Harry said, and without waiting for anyone else, plummeted down the staircase, letting the pounding of his feet tell people to get out of his way, as he more fell than ran, just using his feet to steer. It was nearly as good as flying.

It was easy to keep Harry's mind off things, if he had enough to do. Sadly, that Friday morning heading down to breakfast, he didn't have enough to do. Thinking about what he'd done hurt. It was almost instinctive, the need to avoid that. Also, nearly instinctive, was the frustration, the very very real desire to bash his own head into the wall until he just stopped thinking.

That wouldn't really fix anything, though it felt nice to think about.

Some way to just turn his thinking _off_.

Harry even had his Potions homework done, and that was a miracle forged by honest hard work, as Uncle Vernon would put it, if he could ever consent to say that about Harry Potter.

It hurt that Harry hadn't done this impulsively. He'd thought over the question, again and again - it popped up oddly, when he wasn't trying to think about anything at all.

No, this had been a Made Decision, not an impulse, not a brief momentary bout of idiocy.

Snape had talked about trust. He'd been beyond angry, beyond fury, into a cold sort of crystalline vibration, that might explode at any minute.

Harry closed his eyes, thinking back. His actions had hurt Snape. _Snape_, a man who liked to pretend he couldn't be hurt, by _anything_.

Had surprised Snape, too. That wasn't a comforting thought, like it would have been under other circumstances.

Harry heard giggles, found pretty young girls coming at him from above and below.

_There_. A landing just out of reach.

Harry jumped, and kept running, using his out-of-balance momentum to speed his progress. He ducked into a secret passage (beneath a tapestry), and bent over, catching his breath. If anyone asked, he wouldn't have admitted he'd been crying.

By the time Harry emerged, halfway through breakfast, he was smirking.

_Silver_ linings, and all of that jazz.

He needed Ginny. She was going to_ like_ this.

By the time Harry slid into his seat, he was piling food faster than Ron generally did, which was saying something.

Snape's eyes glared heavily from the High Table.

Harry pretended not to see.

Minerva McGonagall eyed Snape with the same expression that a cat eyes a snake.

* * *

People kept wanting to talk with Harry, slip him secret messages. Hermione was getting increasingly frantic, as he'd been too busy eating to tell her anything (and wonder of wonders, Neville hadn't cracked). Harry just wanted to slide into the role of perfect (well, decent) student. It wasn't working, because everyone else refused to let it work. Even Ron wouldn't back off, not without Harry saying something. Which he wanted to avoid.

Potions class was _worse_ than usual, and Snape was generally in a stew of a temper (with occasional thunderclaps), so that was saying something.

Snape actually rescued one of Neville's potions from causing a disaster.

This would have been swell, except that by saving Neville's, he'd thoroughly trashed Harry's, which had been fine before Snape had roughly jostled his elbow (with his lower back), and Harry had added three extra eyes of newt. The only bright side about Snape (as opposed to the Terribly Dumb Twins) sabotaging his potion was that Snape didn't believe in causing disasters large enough to require his effort in fixing them.

The potion was supposed to be actinic blue, and viscous. Harry's was black, ashy, and clumpy.

"That will be a zero for this assignment Mister Potter. If you persist in working without doing your homework, you will only get more of the same." Snape sneered, his eyes flashing as they bored into Harry's skull.

Well, then.

"Gin," Harry said, and Ginevra Weasley looked at him, with those big eyes of hers. "I need to talk with you."

Ginny crossed her arms, and said, "Well, I'm right here."

"Not... now. not ... here." Harry said, struggling to find some way to express what he wanted.

"O-oh," Seamus said, pushing his head in between Harry's and Ginny's, his hands on their shoulders. "Someone wants a word in private." Seamus' grin was just this side of mocking, or maybe angry, "Better ask Dean first."

Ginny crossed her arms, and even Harry knew that was a bad sign. "I don't need to ask my boyfriend before talking to Harry, Seamus."

Seamus raised his eyebrows, and said, "Whatever you say..."

From down the table, Romilda Vane tittered, looking up at Harry. If there was one person Harry wasn't going to date, it was Romilda Vane. She was a pest, an annoyance, and downright traitorous to boot.

She hadn't rejoined the Defense Club, which was probably for the best. Apparently this year she'd had more of a crush on Malfoy than on Potter, and Harry was glad of that.

Not that she knew either of them well enough to really like them. She just liked the fantasy.

Harry was very much trying not to pay attention to Snape glaring at him. He just knew if he looked up that Snape would -somehow- be looking away before he said anything.

Harry needed to talk with Hermione, too and he really wasn't looking forward to that.

* * *

It was after dinner before Harry got a chance to get Ginny alone, taking her halfway to the top of the Astronomy tower before he was relatively sure that no one was hanging about.

"Harry, what is this?" Ginny said, smiling as if she was flattered.

Harry's green eyes sparkled like the devil, as he started to explain.

"I can tell him, right?"

"If you can make it so only he can hear, sure..." Harry said, smirking.

"Done!" Ginny said, smiling broadly. She took three steps down the stairs, before she realized Harry wasn't following.

"You coming?" she asked, her face doing broad calculations on What Was Wrong Now.

"Nah, I want some fresh autumn air." Harry said.

"Off to sulk then?" Ginny said, and Harry made a face at her.

"Sure, because sulking's what people do on top of the Astronomy tower." Harry said smoothly.

Ginny snickered and said, "Ten galleons says you don't meet anyone up there tonight."

Harry just laughed in response, and Ginny ran off, ponytail bouncing behind her. Harry let his eyes follow her - not necessarily to admire her fine figure, but because it made a convenient excuse to attempt to pierce any illusions nearby.

Satisfied, he headed upstairs.

He needed a better argument before talking with Hermione.

Oh, and equilibrium.

He'd need that too.

Harry Potter had a goal, for sitting on top of the Astronomy tower. He wanted to figure out how to tell Hermione that she wasn't the sole source of answers, and though hers were wonderful, she needed to let other people take a turn sometime, even if their right answer was different from hers.

That wasn't really what Harry was up here thinking about He was stewing, worrying his own fingernails into his thighs. Harry had been watchin Snape these last couple of days. It wasn't all that unusual for Snape to study Harry, come to think of it. It had been part of what had prompted Harry and his friends to think Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's stone**, after all. Those had been glares, the hard eyed stare that reminded Harry not of Uncle Vernon, but of Aunt Petunia's icy gaze. He'd felt just as much outrage because of it, too.

Over the summer and through the fall, Harry had found Snape giving him considering glances. Thoughtful, interested. Still watchful, the quiet of someone truly listening, even when Snape was at the high table, and couldn't possibly hear Harry without some sort of charm. Not that Harry would put that past Snape - Mr. Nobody Talk To Me I'm Eating.

Harry, however, was distinctly more uncomfortable with the glares Snape had been sending him.

Shit. Harry found the framework slotting into place. Those were the looks Snape had shot the Marauders. And Harry was certain Snape had thought of them as despicable cowards.

It had been cowardly, hadn't it, not just asking Snape?

Harry wanted to bury his head in his hands. He'd _ruined_ something, and _for what_?

Worse, he well remembered Snape's words about Snape needing something to tell the Dark Lord.

How.

How was Harry supposed to tell Snape, _NOW?_

He'd be lucky to get to see his heart, before Snape finished murdering him.

Why hadn't he said something then?

Snape would, at the very least, just slam the door in Harry's face. Harry wasn't going to be able to get him to open up. Not even for critical information.

Harry needed to do something... Maybe, maybe if he gave Hermione a note...

He was still pondering thoughts when he fell asleep.

Harry woke to Flint, the ugliest lad in Hogwarts. He tried to simply sit up, not scootch away in fear.

"Mister Potter. Apparently you lack the common sense to sleep on your downy bed, and instead have decided that flagstones make a wonderful place to nap."

"Erk." Harry managed, still fuzzy around the edges as he rubbed at his glasses.

"Up you get." Flint said gruffly, "You're after curfew, but seeing as though you haven't encouraged anyone else to aid in your lawbreaking... Which is rather refreshing I might add. I think if you go straight back, I'll let you off with a warning."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Straight back or you'll regret it," Flint said.

Some things happen that you get used to, without even knowing it.

It was a perplexing thought, and Harry didn't like perplexing thoughts (Maybe Luna did).

He'd come down to breakfast, after a morning run, and it seemed like everyone Gryffindor wanted to talk with him. With some chagrin, Harry thought, "that's what I get for giving them a puzzle."

That wasn't what he was used to, no. Those little tugs on his attention were like tapping a top, standing upright. It would fall to the ground, except that everyone kept pushing it.

Snape was missing from the High Table.

Again.

Harry's half-gotten used to those glares, in the past - half week, was it?

Snape's absence left him wary, concerned. Troubled. In a way that he couldn't, didn't communicate with everyone else.

Every so often, his eyes would flick up there. Still not there.

Nearly at the end of breakfast, Harry's eyes lightly alit on Draco Malfoy - who was talking with his friends, and avoiding the flirting of Pansy Parkinson (Harry deemed said flirting _not serious_, but he couldn't tell even himself why).

* * *

Through the morning, Harry tried to keep his mind off Snape's absence. It wasn't impossible he'd just slept in. It wasn't impossible the Dark Lord hadn't called him. Many things weren't impossible, but they were all far less plausible than Snape simply Dropping off the Board.

Harry'd buried his face in potions books (Snape's assignments were always twice as long as everyone else's, so Harry could be assured of enough work to keep himself busy). It wasn't working well - something like a creeping feeling, which - rather than being watched, was actually the absence of being watched. Which just made it creepier.

Hermione was delighted to help him, when she tumbled into the library. Which was good, not because Harry was having trouble with the assignment, but because he was having trouble with his concentration.

Talking helped. Somewhat.

The vague sense that something was wrong, however, just seemed to twist tighter in his guts.

* * *

Lunchtime.

Snape wasn't at the High Table.

That meant something was ... off.

Probably gone wrong.

Harry's nerves were tight as a violin string, and felt like they'd break at any minute. It was lucky he'd already scared off the Hufflepuff girls, because he really didn't want anyone in tears in the Great Hall.

_What. Was. Going. On_?

Harry clenched his jaw so hard that his sinuses started hurting. Calm. Steady.

_Don't look at the lily_.

Harry looked - it was striped, goldenrod and crimson. _Whatever that meant_.

A voice - not his own, sounded inside his head, _Leave what you can't fix behind. Focus on your objectives._ It sounded like a peculiar mix of Moody, Dumbledore and Snape - Dumbledore's kindness, and Moody's practicality, along with Snape's illtempered curtness.

It was good advice, even if his own brain was starting to develop split personalities.

The humor helped, rippling the emotions into a steadier, calmer state.

Harry thought. _Snape isn't here. What do I know? _He looked carefully around the Great Hall. Malfoy sat there, in the midst of his followers at the Slytherin Table. He looked utterly unconcerned. _Does he know what's going on? I hate to ask, but..._ Harry continued to stare, and eventually Malfoy caught his gaze, raising a superior eyebrow questioningly. _Nope. He knows nothing. May not have even noticed that Snape's just... gone. _Oddly enough, it was a creepy, dreadful thought for Snape to be gone. At least with Sirius, it had been a battle. He'd been there, seen it. Had a chance to fix it.

Harry shook his head, _Snape's been gone before. He's moved back onto the board. No reason to think he's smiling._* Carefully, Harry looked up at Albus, busy chatting with Flitwick as McGonagall shot them a vaguely disapproving glance. _It's harder to tell with Albus, _Harry thought carefully, _But with him, I might actually get answers if I asked._

Harry collected himself, tried to tamp down the desperate yearning for an Explanation! _Do I dare?_ Harry, eventually, shook his head. He doubted Dumbledore knew about half of the games Snape was currently playing (_Oh, sure_, Harry thought, suppressing the wild urge to grin, _Dumbledore knows about his Death Eater games_).

Harry concentrated on his breathing, turning his breath in and out into a form of meditation. _Assume the positive. _Harry harshly told himself, trying for an icy voice. He managed about a Lupin, which was mildly hilarious.

Harry remembered the last time Snape came back, _skeletal thin_ \- and more alarming than that, too tired to _teach_. He hadn't recovered from that, even mostly, _for a week_. With a bite of trifle on his fork, he closed his eyes, remembering back... Over the summer, Snape had left - every week. He'd come back gaunter, but Harry hadn't dug into it. _Prying's still a ridonkulous idea._ Harry thought back further, realizing that even at the start of the summer, when they'd all been in Grimmauld Place, Snape had come and gone... and there had been times when he'd seemed stricken, almost. As if by some sort of wasting _disease_.

Patterns meant problems.

Opening his eyes and eating the bite of trifle, Harry decided to put off talking to Hermione for another day. In the meantime, he had _research_ to do.

Harry Potter had watched Hermione Granger research - she worked like a magpie, grabbing up one thing after another, reading it a little before tossing it into Promising or Put Back piles. She'd later curl up with each, savoring it like a dragon did gold.

Harry wasn't like that with research. He approached research like most people approached a punching bag. Hit it until it submitted.

So, Harry's idea both took more time, and less, than Hermione's way of doing it.

He'd woken early in the morning, and taken a run, using the time to get his thoughts into place. He'd wolfed breakfast, so quickly that he even managed to surpass Ron - ignoring everyone with that "uh huh" that he knew most people took to be him brooding. He'd ignored especially the stares from the Slytherin table. He didn't want to know that he was troubling them. Harry hated to trouble people, hated to be scrutinized like a bug - as if he was about ready to explode, or shrivel up, or _both_.

Up to his room, again, pulling the curtains on his bed shut, nevermind it was broad daylight and a Sunday to boot. From the open window, he could hear the Quiddich pitch (Ron was captain, from what he'd osmosified).

No distractions. Harry needed focus. He pulled out the crumpled bobs and bits of parchment... and wrapping paper... and butcher's paper, god knows where they'd got that.

The twins writing was replete with details, spurious details, intriguing details, useful details. But it was all told as a story, and thus was embroiled and embroidered with laughter.

Harry couldn't quite suppress a smile at the Twins turning green-faced (literally), as their gas-inducing latest product came out their other end. They'd intended it to help with burping contests.

Harry skipped lunch.

There were miles of parchment, here, Harry thought, as he flopped down on his back, tilting the paper up towards the ceiling as he kept reading.

_I know it's here, somewhere..._

Harry dared not skip dinner, even as he dodged the questions Ron and Hermione asked. Afterwards, as he retreated towards Gryffindor Tower, Malfoy proved even easier to dodge - Harry darted around Romilda Vane, with a whispered, "He likes you."

As Harry disappeared inside Gryffindor, he heard Malfoy's disbelieving voice, asking, "_And you BELIEVED him?!_"

With a smirk on his face, Harry got back to work. Maybe it hadn't been this year at all, maybe it'd been last year, or the summer...

Harry Potter ran and continued to run, as he went around Hogwarts. It was quite a bit more boring than if Snape was there. Harry wondered, grimly, if Snape would ever be there again. He focused his breathing on his steps, and started to think through his research, each page the equivalent of ten paces.

Harry Potter came to breakfast Monday morning, nearly in the exact middle of breakfast. He spared the high table one glance - enough to confirm that Snape was there, looking just as emaciated as predicted.

Harry dug into his food with gusto, nodding vigorously whenever someone tried to involve him in conversations he didn't care about at this moment.

He still had more to read. He had the glimmer of an idea, but he had to find facts before he could make plans. His mind was more on those notes up in his room, those fantastical letters.

Harry stole one glance up at the High Table as he left, relieved to see that Snape had not managed to fall over, or otherwise look completely wasted. The man looked like a wraith already. Harry would have considered offering to help, except that would actually count as suicide. Harry was _not_ looking forward to Defense - he _well knew_ what it took to be professional while teaching (though Harry had to concede he often wasn't, himself) - and Snape was looking spectral as it was. (Harry was briefly distracted by the idea of a rainbow shining through Professor Snape, before his horrified brain told him to leave the Great Hall while he was still able to walk).

* * *

Snape's slitted eyes burnt black, as he looked at himself in the mirror. He was gaunt - emaciated. Absently, he tugged at his robes, muttering, "Poppy's always on me to lose some weight." Poppy had never said any such thing, and tended to press more food on him than he was capable of eating (at least it wasn't the "Home Cooking" of Molly Weasley). Snape sat at a table in his private quarters, eating a simple breakfast of salsa and chips. It was the most he could stomach, and it made his hair glint with sweat.

Snape strode into the Great Hall with an odd premonition - something had changed. Ever disciplined, Snape sat stiffly and poured himself some black coffee. Then he let his eyes rake the Slytherin table - Malfoy was boasting, but that was nothing new... At the Ravenclaw table, Cho Chang and Terry Boot were having a civilized argument. _If only my house would be content to argue with words alone._ Normal. Snape's eyes barely glanced at the Hufflepuff table - it had been years since chance came from that quarter. Snape's eyes reached the Gryffindor table. Specifically, Potter, who had managed to sit at the most crowded part of the table, yet didn't seem to be listening to a single word anyone said. Being Gryffindors, they hadn't noticed the difference. Snape sent a whitehot glare at Potter, as he continued to watch - Potter was eating quicker than usual, which meant that he had something on his mind.

It was only after Potter left that Snape realized Harry had only looked his way twice. That was disturbingly eccentric.

* * *

Minerva kept looking at Snape, whose eyes were well past scalding hot, as they glare down at Potter for most of dinner. If this didn't resolve itself soon, she was going to have to step in herself. _The lot of the assistant headmaster. Fixing all the petty little fights._

Harry was early to Defense, and realized, with a bit of an electric shiver, that most people were actually later than usual.

Had Snape's students started to look forward to his class? Oh, if he only knew. Harry thought wryly. Harry couldn't decide whether he'd storm off, smirk smugly, or let out a harsh, warm laugh - the kind that comes from a throat not used to it. Maybe not used to it... _anymore_.

Students began to file in, Slytherins first, and Harry caught more than one of them looking at each other with just a trace of concern on their faces. As much as Harry wanted to help Snape, who looked like he had more than a foot through death's door - he realized that approaching the Slytherins would be a mistake. Slytherins hated showing weakness, and expected if they did, that it would be pounced on by the nearest predator. That applied, in some strange way, to Slytherin House as a whole, of which Snape was Head.

What, did they really think Harry would manage some type of prank because Snape wasn't capable of chasing him down? Harry's mind helpfully supplied, "Or maybe they think you'd get yourself in trouble, and Snape would kill himself trying to save you." That thought was uncomfortable. Harry wanted away from that thought. He was better now, stronger, more capable. If he got in trouble, Snape wouldn't need to come running, because he'd fix it himself.

Quietly, as if inside a great silence, Harry heard Snape's words about him going into battle, "You'll be a good soldier, if you can survive the first few fights. Not that I expect you to." Most people - even, perhaps, Professor Dumbledore - would have expected that to be some measure of concealed, twisted truth. Harry'd heard it though, and he heard the unvarnished honesty of it. That wasn't a man who'd jump through hell and high water (or, at this rate, a ford), to save Harry. Obscured though his feelings were, Harry felt a little glad of that, proud even.

The class itself was nearly boring. Snape strode in - Harry privately suspected he'd do so even if blood was spurting out of his mouth... or other orifices. Dignity meant a lot to Snape, it seemed. Perhaps if it hadn't been that specific memory, Harry'd not have had several potion implements and glass objects thrown directly at his head.

Snape, eschewing the podium for once, simply strode through everyone, turned around and leaned his back on the wall, "Your assignment for today is to find five ways to defeat a Yeti."

Harry opened up his book, starting to look at the Table of Contents. Shielding, Defense, Wordless Casting, Wandless Casting... nothing about anything to do with creatures of any sort. His eyes left the page, finding Hermione already reading about thewee beas

Harry had a sudden thought, flipping through his papers until he found Snape's syllabus. He'd hardly glanced at it, when a voice sounded from what seemed miles above his shoulder. "Well, Mister Potter, has your arrogance grown so much that you feel entitled to not complete the assignment?"

Harry looked up, trying for innocent wide eyes, "I'm just consulting the syllabus."

"And what does that have to do with completing your assignment?" Snape asked, his hand landing suddenly on Harry's shoulder and squeezing visetight. Harry would normally have suspected "taking out anger on Harry's person", except that Snape's skeletal hand served to reemphasize that Snape might fall over at any minute.

"I'm trying to find what chapter to read." Harry said, though he was really doing no such thing.

"I'm afraid that you'll be disappointed, then," Snape said snidely. Before he could remove his hand from Harry's shoulder, Harry's quick hand caught his wrist. Harry gave Snape a glare, one that said, "I know you're making this assignment up _right now_."

As if Harry's hand wasn't even there, Snape said, "The point of this assignment is to consult your classmates and create a working picture together."

Harry mentally translated, _Tell truth from lies and superstition._ Harry smirked, _After all, Snape couldn't teach them everything._

Harry Potter was about to discover that he should have done many things over the past three days that he hadn't done.

It is a sad yet timeless truth that poor oblivious souls need dire shocks to return them to rapt attention.

So it was with the young Potter, today.

Harry Potter had been so busy thinking that he'd just kept walking, not only skipping dinner, but somehow walking up until he'd managed to walk down, continuing until he'd wound up deep in the guts of the Slytherin dungeons, which somehow always seemed danker and gloomier than the Hufflepuff ones. He'd have to ask how that worked, it seemed like a useful affect. If you wanted people crept out, that is.

Harry Potter was rudely yanked from his daydreaming by a shrill shriek. That is to say, Ginny Weasley, launching herself at full tilt into Draco Malfoy's (quite surprised, yet still gallant) arms, and thence to smooching him, in a sort of full-body tackle sort of way, though Draco'd kept his feet. Oddly enough, Malfoy's face seemed to cheer up, when Ginny whispered in his ear.

However, this was not to be borne by one Pansy Parkinson, who responded with a warcry of her own - her ravenblack tresses streaming behind as she bolted towards the inappropriate, or possibly unacceptable couple. Responding as if she had eyes in the back of her head, Ginny leapt off (presumably to protect Malfoy, who hadn't been manufacturing a fight, _for once_).

Harry was so busy watching them fight - with slaps and heels of the hand, and grabbing of hair, no punches necessary, that he almost missed them heading _out of the dungeons_.

"I got this," Harry hollered - and that was odd, as there weren't any Gryffindors about to hear.

Draco Malfoy, once Harry's footsteps had faded, smirked, slow as molasses.

_The game's afoot._

*Referencing a Chelsea Grin. Because Harry's sense of humor is morbid, obviously. As he notes, the humor helps.

**I am American. We will be using Proper Names here, not stupid made-up things like Sorceror's Stone. Hmph!


	30. Cunning Misbehavior

Snape stirred, deep within his rooms. He was tired as the dickens, but he stirred nonetheless. _Were those fireworks? In the Slytherin dungeons?_

Silently, quietly, he prayed that it was not so. That the toad Umbridge had not returned to Hogwarts.

Sense returned to him slowly, as he had to concentrate on his own heartbeat to keep it humming. _Oh, that's right, the Defense Association...reborn._

Snape mentally recalled that his chambers were warded to allow sound to penetrate, but not to leave again. He figured that sounded odd from the outside, and perhaps ought to test it himself, someday soon.

It sounded like the hounds of hell were baying outside his door. The sound resolved a bit more, into the combined howls of Ginny Weasley and Pansy Parkinson.

Snape closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to decipher the meanings. There was the sound of pounding feet, and more officious ones. Draco Malfoy, for one, spouting off about the rapscallions that dared to set off fireworks. And then pointing the Inquisitor Squad onto a path. Snape knew what he was doing, the treacherous bastard. A slow, lazy half smile dawned on Snape's face.

_They'd report at the Room of Requirement_, Snape knew, _and he was going to enjoy every detailed description_.

It was a shame, Snape thought that he didn't have anything in particular he wanted to procure from the Ravenclaws. That would be just the excuse he needed to schlep the stairs. And suddenly, Snape smiled. It was always nice when plans came together with a mere thought.

Snape strode upward as if he really were a wraith, passing unhindered between fireworks, paint spells, and other explosive distractions. That would be the Gryffindors, he presumed. The Ravenclaws had gone with a rather more surrealistic bent, which Snape found a good deal more clever and devilish tricky to not react to. He knew the floor was still there, even if his eyes insisted he was now walking on the ceiling. Even if his feet could boot the sconces near the top of the room. Steady on. The Hufflepuffs' madness wasn't a drain on Snape - he figured they'd gone for the simple route, like their totem animal.

* * *

Harry was wide awake now, looking mildly horrified at all the property damage that the Defense Association had managed to produce. Harry hadn't... hadn't thought they'd go that far. Filch was going to have a fit. If Harry could wave a wand, and fix all of it...

Well, really, why not?

Harry thought of the Jetsons, a television show that had been banned because Uncle Vernon couldn't stand anything strange. He conjured a small sponge, and told it, the way he'd seen Luna, "Clean this up."

The sponge, predictably, just sat there.

Maybe he needed some cueing? Maybe he should just go to the DA and ask her?

He wasn't looking forward to admitting to Hermione that he'd just forgotten to tell her. She wasn't likely to be pleased.

Taking a deep breath, he soldiered on, reminding himself that Ginny and Pansy in a catfight was both:

1) Fascinating to watch

and

2) To be prevented at all costs, due to the definite emergence of blood.

* * *

Inside the Room of Requirement, the mood was celebratory, with Hermione taking advantage of everyone's happy gregariousness to pick their minds about what they'd done. Harry's eyes quickly found Pansy and Ginny - who were laughing together, "_Did you see his face?" _Harry really hoped they weren't talking about him.

Harry listened intently, not contributing much. Of course, since everyone seemed to think they'd already told him (they had, he hadn't listened), they were eagerly babbling to each other, mostly across house lines, as it seemed there had been more coordination than he'd expected.

"Hey you lot, I thought that was a real fight," Harry said, making his way over to Pansy and Ginny.

"I'll do you one better!" Ginny said, guffawing, "Malfoy thought I meant it when I threw myself at him."

Pansy shrugged, "Distracting Draco is a little like throwing gold around a niffler. He's likely to run after anything that's not nailed down."

Harry frowned, slightly, "He's no thief..." with a considering tone.

"No, he's just spoiled. What he wants, he gets." Pansy said.

"Not always," Harry said firmly.

"He got you, didn't he?" Pansy said, smirking. And that was something Harry suddenly _didn't want_ an answer to.

Harry, in the end, simply shrugged.

Pansy smirked at Ginny, "Boys!"

Ginny responded back, "Emotional range of a teaspoon!"

Harry responded, "Hey! That was Ron!"

Ginny spat back, "And it's you, when you start acting like my youngest brother!" While the wording was true, it made Ron sound like he was younger than Ginny. Which Harry often felt was true.

Hermione was still writing, and Harry walked close to the Slytherins, interested in hearing what their reports would be. Other than Pansy, they'd apparently just used House Privilege and the canny ability to dodge the Ravenclaws. Apparently Malfoy was extending them courtesy he wasn't giving the other houses.

Then something happened that surprised Harry. Goyle smiled his molasses smile, and said, "Not that I haven't come up with a few things we haven't used yet."

This was going to be good, Harry could tell.

Harry, even while preoccupied, retained the good sense to notice when his friends were talking about him behind his back. That was the case as of now, though Harry couldn't possibly be upset - he bloody deserved it. And he knew just what it was about, too. He had said he was going to talk to Hermione, and hadn't done. She wanted to confront him about it, but Ron was having none of it. Harry had to smile, even as he hurried up to his bed - his friends were so predictable. But it wasn't like that was a bad thing. They cared, after all.

Harry had some caring to do too, he thought, as he started in on another week's notes from the Twins. They had possibly gone overboard with the details, however amusing they were. Reading wryly about both Fred and George becoming weightless, and thinking of astronauts as they struggled to tie themselves to their potion-station (which, unlike the ones at Hogwarts, wasn't so nailed down...).

Some people were Captains of Industry - the Twins were Captains of Chaos.

Harry wouldn't have had it any other way. At least now that they were in the Order, they had specialty requests.

Harry'd noticed a strange thing too - from the start of this year, and no earlier, someone had been sending the Twins owls. It wasn't in the vein of requests - that'd be normal, there was always someone who had a good joke. No, someone was sending improvements. Only, Harry frowned, it was hard to tell from the specifics what the point was. Not thrift, as some improvements were quite expensive. Not the War, because some of them were just whimsical. And a few of the suggestions seemed dead useful.

Harry still wanted to know who was doing it.

Most people realize that time's slipping through their hands.

Harry had woken up that day with the depressing realization that while he'd been scrambling to find a solution to Snape's... condition, the hourglass had broken, sending all the timesand spilling on his feet.

He couldn't do this, he wasn't going to make it.

Harry forced himself to understand that.

To stop trying to sprint.

As a child, Harry had learned all about sprinting - it was practically the only exercise he got - sprinting away from Dudley and his gang. But Harry'd learned more, since then - he knew how to breathe while loping, how to pound the dirt until it almost seemed he was floating away* and then to keep running past that, until he vomited on the ground - and then to run some more, just to show he could.

Snape believed in knowing your limits. But that came with the idea of testing them, of pushing yourself past when your muscles cried out, of just keeping going, with a sort of blind determination (or maybe that was Just Harry, or a result of this being an assignment. Harry was not that masochistic without provocation).

Blindly, Harry put on his running clothes, and headed outside. He was going to run until he'd cleared his mind, until all the frustration had given way to bone-deep tiredness. And then he was going to take one more step.

It wasn't going to work this month, Harry hadn't the time.

It was going to work. Harry'd see to it.

* * *

This was the day that Harry discovered that lectures were a lot more interesting when you were bone-weary. He even scrawled some notes in Transfiguration! Were this last year, he might even have felt half-way proud about himself.

Told Sirius, maybe. Been scolded about not being too studious (and that would be how Harry would know he was doing well).

His hand shook, holding his spoon. It was almost a relief when Hermione spoke up - a splashy distraction for him. "Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry studied her for a moment. She didn't look that angry - she looked like she was perfectly calm. Harry didn't trust it. On the other hand, he was pants at lying, so he said, "I, actually, I forgot." Harry stammered it out, but because it was truth, that was fine.

Hermione looked at him, and said sternly, "I wish you wouldn't do things like that."

Harry nodded, "It just slipped my mind. You know I wouldn't do anything like that to you, Hermione, not on purpose. I've been kept in the dark so much." Often literally, "That I'd never do it to you."

Across the room, silvery eyes watched Potter and his Club with a keen vigilance.

Tuesday, Harry had tried to slip off after dinner, but Ron and Hermione had practically frogmarched him to the Room of Requirement, Hermione all piously saying, "You can't possibly have something more important than your own safety."

Harry spent two flights of stairs and an entire floor pondering how, or if he really should, explain to Hermione that Helping Snape was a better method of looking out for his current safety. Snape had been acting mean as a wolverine lately, but that was... not all that out of the ordinary.

The more pressing problem was that Snape was mad. At him. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't hung upside down in the Great Hall, his entrails spilled out for everyone to see at breakfast. Oh, and he'd still be alive, of course, though dying and they wouldn't be able to save him.

Harry didn't think he deserved that. Mostly. It got harder to be confident about that when he thought of what the Dark Lord had requested of Snape - and how Snape wouldn't so much as listen to one word from Harry's mouth. If the Dark Lord hurt Hermione... or Ron. Harry wasn't sure what he'd do, but he had a vague feeling that he'd probably regret it afterward. Aunt Petunia had always said that blood was the worst thing to get on clothing. He doubted even a house elf could get out a good sat bloodstain.*

They were in the room of requirement before the Sword of Damocles fell.** Hermione turned to Harry and said, "Alright, out with it. What's been eating you so bad you couldn't be bothered to tell me about the latest Interesting Objective for DA?"

Harry, startled, looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. There was literally nothing that he could say that would get both of them on his side. Well, when all else fails, improvise. "I've been working on something..." he said, drawing upon his embarrassment at being forgetful to look convincingly abashed.

Ron said, "So? Out with it..."

Harry fidgeted, "It's kind of a secret." He tried looking earnest, "A good one, though! I promise."

Their wry looks at him suggested they didn't believe him.

"What kind of a prank is it?" Ron asked.

Harry had a starburst of inspiration. Unlike the normal lightbulbs, it took him a few moments of blinking to set the idea straight. "It's something to memorialize Padfoot. He wouldn't want me crying over him, now would he?"

His friends shook their heads, Hermione smiling softly, as if she might just cry.

Harry continued, "I'll even tell Hermione if you want. Ron, you'll like the surprise more if you don't hear." Which was true, of course, but hardly honest. The honest response was that Ron would want to join in, and that would spike the whole plan. There was no way a plan that involved Ron Weasley was getting at all close to Severus Snape. Nothing against Ron, of course, but Snape _knew better_.

Hermione gave Harry a bright smile, and he took them over to a pair of seats with a teaset inbetween. He cast a quick silencing spell - at the first syllable, Hermione had looked up, excited - she'd apparently not learnt this one before. Although, since Harry had had it from Snape, he wasn't exactly surprised.

Harry and Hermione sat down. "There's no way to break this easy," Harry paused a moment, looking around. Meanwhile, Hermione had leaned forward, her eyes as bright as they were when she opened a new tome. "I'm going to prank Snape."

Hermione's eyes got big. "Harry! Why would you Possibly think that's a good idea?"

Harry scratched his head, and said, even softer, "You've seen how he looks lately, yes?"

Hermione nodded tentatively. "Something's wrong." she said softly.

Harry nodded, "Well, it strikes me that what's worse than looking like death warmed over is Feeling like death warmed over."

Hermione said, "And this is why you want to prank Snape?"

Harry nodded, firm.

Hermione said, "I really don't think this is a good idea. He's prickly at the best of times."

Harry shook his head, "You will. I just know it."

Draco Malfoy darted in, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione asked, "Having trouble?"

Draco said, "Just the usual. The life of a minion is fraught with those who take offense at your superiors."

Ron and Harry burst out laughing at that, and the shy smirk that Draco gave them was Harry's proof that Malfoy really had meant to make fun of himself.

"Dueling today," Malfoy said firmly.

"Why does he get to choose?" Ron asked, in a tone that just bordered on whinging.

"He doesn't. We choose together." Hermione put in firmly.

Draco Malfoy's left eyebrow rose, and he asked, simply, "Anyone got any other ideas?"

They hadn't.

"Not dueling." Harry put in. "Let's do this right if we're going to do this at all." He knew he looked moody and a bit upset. Fair enough, he didn't live in Slytherin house, so most blokes wouldn't use it against him.

"Rules?" Malfoy chirped.

"None." Harry responded.

"Oi!" Malfoy said, sliding an arm around Hermione to grasp her other arm, "Granger's crushed. What'll she do without rules."

Granger turned a gimlet eye on Malfoy, and said, in a very level voice, "Kill you of course."

It took a brief moment before Ron started laughing, and they all joined in, with varying levels of assurance. Malfoy, in particular, looked like he was laughing "to say he could take a joke" and not "because Granger had been joking, and he'd been got good."

"Alright," Harry said, "Let's just try not to kill, dismember or maim one another." It was nearly a line Snape might have said, in his put-upon tones. Harry delivered it with a grin of gusto, and it looked completely different. Maybe someone might think Harry mad, but at least he wouldn't be mistaken for being gloomy!

They all went head-first into it - yes, even Malfoy, whose form was deft and quick. Malfoy and Granger tended to grab the upper hand - and then keep it, by sheer wits alone. Harry and Hermione were pulling punches, of course - they could both be casting wordless as well as wandless.

Harry's back arched as Malfoy flung an electrical spell at Harry's back (and a good thing that, it was lethal if it hit your heart directly). As much as it was a good shot, Harry was incensed. He turned around with blood in his eye, and a manic grin that featured a few too many teeth. Harry send a devilish hex towards Malfoy - it was a Sensitization Hex, not much on its own, but if you were in a battle (and Ron and Hermione were facing off, loudly)... _well_.

Draco Malfoy reacted. Not to the hex, but... what? He'd gone white in the face, and flung a blasting spell at the floor beneath his feet - using his reflexes to only smash his hand/arm against the floor. _Malfoy knew how to fall too_ \- Harry filed that under Useful Information To Be Used Later.

Belatedly, Harry realized that Hermione and Ron had stopped fighting to stare at Draco and Harry. "What-what was that?" Ron stammered.

"Snape's ghost!" Draco Malfoy said, still white, and tried for a laugh that came out broken. Everyone looked at him, both curious and wary - Malfoy was well known for being prickly if he didn't want to milk an injury. Harry did the mental math, and figured out that the other Gryffindors hadn't seen Harry's face.

Moments later, Draco had collected himself, at least a little, and said, "That look, on Potter's face, it looked _so much_ like Snape." Harry desperately tried to remember what he'd looked like, and then, just as desperately, hoped Draco wouldn't say a word about it.

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, looking Harry up and down. "He doesn't look upset, the way Snape generally does. And, I mean, this is Harry, if he was upset, we'd still see it." Harry's mouth gave a twitch at that, threatening to break into a sunny smile. His friends knew him well.

"I could see his teeth," Draco said, and it was a soft tone, even in his standard drawl. "All of them."

Harry realized that he'd seen that look on Snape's face, more a snarl than a smile. It wasn't a happy face (not that Harry'd been happy about being shot in the back, that'd be daft!)

Ron chuckled, saying, "Snape doesn't smile. I bet his teeth are yellow and crooked, just like..."

Hermione deftly cut in, before Malfoy could take offense (Harry didn't think him capable, in this state, but Malfoy might wind himself up later...), "Unless he's very different in his own House."

Draco Malfoy said, softly, "It wasn't just that," Harry nearly leaned forward to hear what he said, "It was the eyes." Harry suddenly very much wanted to know what Draco was talking about. Harry knew his eyes had been bright, happy to be striking back at Draco. Snape's eyes always seemed... colder than that. Particularly when he was upset.

"A sort of... vindictive glee." Draco Malfoy said. Harry was by this point too enamored by the concept that there was a Snape madder than he'd been with Harry to feel sorry for Draco's stupidity at making the man that mad.

"I dunno man, I've never seen Snape like that, and I once saw him going off twice in ten minutes on the Twins." Ron said doubtfully.

Draco smirked, "I was dissecting porcupine quills and dropping them into a hellebore base."

"That could have taken off your arm." Hermione nearly shrieked.

"I know, and I knew that then. I could also have leveled half of Malfoy Manor." Draco smirked. "I was ten. And bored. I knew better, but I wanted something _to do_."

Harry Potter was suddenly struck by the idea that Draco Malfoy had actually been trying to behave up to snuff when he'd come to Hogwarts. That little twerp was on his best behavior! It was frankly mind-boggling.

"Ruddy luck, having to spend time out of school with Snape," Ron, who possessed an instinct about the right things to say that Harry sadly lacked, put in.

"Luck had nothing to do with it!" Draco Malfoy smirked, "It was my tenth birthday, and I'd decided that I was going to draw a memento."

"So...?" Hermione asked, unsure.

Draco Malfoy, who'd always loved the spotlight, continued, "I'd gotten Pansy to sit on Nott's shoulders, and then put them both atop Vince and Greg's backs."

Hermione chuckled lightly.

"They stood that way for nearly the entire party, until Nott couldn't hold it in anymore, and pissed himself all over Vince and Greg. Oh, and then Pansy couldn't stand the smell and insisted she get off - before I was done with my picture!" Draco had managed to whinge more about the loss of his models than sound caring about the urination. "So, naturally, I had to complain to my parents that Pansy was entirely too disobedient to be a proper pureblooded madame, and could they please find me some better friends."

Hermione and Ron were in stitches by this point, and Harry even managed a chuckle.

"They shipped me off to Snape the next week." Draco Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets, "You've seen how good I am in potions." That wasn't a boast, somehow, just a sure statement of fact. "Snape always says it was self-defense."

And that, that had Harry on the floor with the other Gryffindors. Who knew Draco Malfoy knew how to self-deprecate?

Draco Malfoy didn't realize something was wrong for the _longest time_.

After all, they'd just gone back to mock-fighting (nobody had even thrown any jokes, for a wonder.) Probably they were all stunned with the idea of Draco Malfoy being a worse prat before he'd come to Hogwarts (it'd been something Malfoy had known for ages, so seemed unremarkable to himself).

Dueling demanded concentration, demanded finding your feet and knowing exactly what the other person was going to cast - and then anticipating it with a shield or another strategy. At least, that was how _Draco_ dueled - and fought, when it came down to it. The Gryffindors had different styles, from Ron, who specialized in oddball spells that not only had Draco never heard of, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear of. He'd tried one, one bloody spell, that Ron knew. It hadn't worked. So he tried it again, and again. Fifty tries later, Draco was starting to wonder if it was one of those family spells, from an old grimoire. But, really, a family spell to turn your clothes sparkly and translucent? (If so, that _really would_ explain the Weasley twins...). Granger tried for inventive on offense, and prosaic on defense. She'd learned enough hexes that Draco was halfway inside his mind most of any duel with her. He'd need to think up what the proper counter for - _what was that spell again?_ And Potter? Potter fought like water - he had about twenty spells he'd use, no more no less, but what he lacked for in variety, he more than made up for _in simply dodging_.

Dueling went on for hours, and Draco put his mind directly on his opponent/s. The end came when Potter finished them off with ... The Nose Growing Curse. An otherwise unremarkable color, other than it's color - Avada Kedavra green. Obediently, they all dropped to the floor and played dead, not rising until Potter had all their wands.

Potter had positioned himself at the door, holding all four wands in one hand; Draco almost froze at the sight of him. Potter generally liked to play 'unremarkable' - and did so to such _a remarkable degree_ that he'd fooled Snape, of all people. It always came as a shock when Potter played general. (Draco, himself, wanted to know if he'd do as well, playing general. He made a mental note to do War Games the next time it was his turn in Additional Defense Time. Sure, it was a bit selfish. But everyone needed to know how to give and take orders, in a war. Assume anyone can be killed, or incapacitated.).

With flinty eyes, Potter said, "Not a word about what Draco said today." Draco Malfoy could only stare, not even smirk at the ... consideration, or whatever it was. Potter, Draco remembered, finally, loved to brood about things. Draco hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. At least this time Potter was still coherent - he generally tended to explode into fury; that, while amusing, was not what Draco particularly wanted to encounter without backup.

Ron, predictably, spoke up laughingly, "Oi! Yeah, like we'd tell anyone about Draco Malfoy nearly blowing up his childhood home!" Hermione was glaring at Ron; but, as that was her normal form of behavior, Draco didn't pay it much heed.

"I mean it, Ron," Harry Potter said, and that look was... well, Draco Malfoy recognized that look. It was - not the look of a killer, but the look of someone who _would kill_, anyway.

Draco Malfoy filed that away for later use, feeling like he'd just been handed a dozen galleons he couldn't spend. He'd have to rethink the entire practice session to understand what Draco'd said that made Potter react like that. That was fine, Draco had all the time in the world.

It was breakfast before Harry'd pulled himself out of his mental fog (yes, it had persisted through running around Hogwarts. Multiple times.). Pumpkin Juice was great, and all, but sometimes you really really needed coffee. In Harry's case, since the Hogwarts House Elves refused to make the Devil's Brew, he had to settle for a cup of Proper British Tea (any attempts to persuade the elves that he just wanted the caffeine, and could they double steep it for flavor? Had fallen on deaf ears).

Harry was on his fourth cup now, and starting to remember that today was Wednesday. In quick succession, his schedule started to flash before his eyes - and ground to a halt on the first item.

Snape's Defense Class.

Harry's mind slid to a screeching halt, as he did something he never ever did at breakfast. He pulled out papers. Specifically, Snape's syllabus. Harry skimmed down the list, noting that they were - as expected - two weeks ahead. Not that the book work was actually on the syllabus, either.

Snape was chewing up the breathing room he'd gotten from not having to teach them the Patronus charm.

He'd known this was coming - and more on top of this, Harry thought. This wasn't some unplanned thing that just left him gaunt and wasted.

Harry realized that he'd known this, somehow - call it gut level intuition. But he'd known.

That ruddy bastard, Harry thought, a smile quirking the edges of his lips. Harry sat back, thinking, How did anyone think I could manage to fight a Slytherin like Voldemort? With Gryffindor - stupidity? Run right up and spit in his face?

Suddenly, Harry realized that he actually did have the capability of doing that, now. And of having at least a hairsbreath chance of surviving it. He knew how to dodge after all, and that seemed to be something that most wizards hadn't the foggiest clue about. Malfoy was starting to learn (and Greg seemed to just "take" hits and shrug them off. Harry thought he'd learned pain tolerance, but it turned out he'd really only learned the ability to move while being in horrendous agony. Greg seemed to have gotten that, and more. Was that his da teaching him? Harry didn't know, but thought it likely. Few people would care, otherwise, and Draco Malfoy didn't seem like he had the heart to make his minion scream merely to help him).

Harry abruptly realized that no one else was still at the table, as he stuffed the papers frantically into his bag.

Then it was up and running (okay, jogging. no running in Hogwarts Hallways!), towards Snape's classroom - nevermind that Snape hadn't stood from breakfast yet, he'd have a quicker way to be sure, and Harry REALLY didn't need any black marks on his record today.

Harry strode into Defense like he owned the place, more like he was going to be the teacher than deferential to Snape. He collected people into his gaze, Slytherins scattered here and there - for all that 'Slytherins Stuck Together' was a mantra, they didn't really cleave to it much, other than defending each other.

Hmm... perhaps he could use that. The Hufflepuffs had formed two groups - one primarily female, the other mostly male. Justin was the odd one out. The Ravenclaws had merged with the Gryffindors (and who knew how that had happened, Harry mentally put money on Hermione).

Before Harry could as much as start a little plotting, Snape strode through the door, his pace disorganized, but still as swift as ever. He tottered faster than many ran. It was impressive, in its own way.

"Read the chapter on Darkly Magical Beasts. Now that you aren't being taught by one, perhaps you can quiz each other on the subject." Snape drawled, practically laying down on the podium, his whole upper body weight supported by one arm - that had a slight tremble to it.

Harry belatedly heard the bait in Snape's comment, his eyes quickly flicking to Hermione and Ron, both of whom looked fit to charge up to Snape and holler at him. That, would be a bad idea in so many ways, Harry thought grimly. Mentally, he flagged where Parkinson was, and swirled his wand in his hand, wordlessly casting a mirror charm at two discrete points in the room. Then, he flicked a stinging hex at the first - it ricocheted into the second, and wound up speeding by Parkinson and hitting Ron in the arse. Luckily, Lavender was beside him, to calm him down before he exploded in front of the whole class.

The war had started off cold.

Pansy didn't know what hit her, of course, but Ron's wordless stinging hex didn't go unavenged. Ol' Pugface sent a stinging hex towards Lavender Brown, who subsequently sent a tickling hex at Parvati - and then they both, from opposite sides of the room, tried to get Pansy, using some sort of archaic "girls only" handspeak.

Pansy, who was substantially more prepared, simply ducked - more accurately, bending down to tie her shoelace. How she'd managed to untie it while standing...

Pansy had been near two groups of Hufflepuffs, and Hannah Abbot wasn't known for her temper. Zach was more inclined to take it as "who DARES to hex me from behind?", but that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Snape's eyes were closed, but Harry knew that was just the illusion of letting them get away with it.

Still, as Zach and Hannah started shooting the Tango hex, as well as a modified tickling curse that wouldn't stop until you peed yourself, Harry snuck in a few more stinging hexes, bringing Goyle, and - oddly, the usually rational Hermione into the mix. (Hermione was probably just upset that someone was interrupting her studying.)

*stains fix if you let them sit. Harry's past-tensified the sit, and then turned it into an adjective. Harry doesn't know many words. He's quite willing to make them up, however.

**Rocky Horror Picture Show. As weird and oddball as that movie is, there's not much magic. This is what happens when Dudley falls asleep on the sofa and leaves the TV on.


	31. The Devil's Own Laughter

It took until ten minutes before class was over, before Snape's eyes flicked up from the book he'd been perusing (not reading. You'd have to turn a page to be reading for that long).*

"Potter," Snape said mildly, "That will be a dozen detentions with Filch for amusing yourself by torturing the rest of the class."

"Anyone who's dared cast a hex in this classroom today will have double the inches on your assignment." Snape's tone was still mild. "Potter, you'll have triple."

"Any miscreants currently in my classroom should flee for the hills at the earliest opportunity." Snape said, "Diligent students may take the last ten minutes to pry knowledge out of my brilliant mind." Harry began to stand up, taking his cue from Goyle, and Snape suddenly snapped, "Not you, Potter. Remain behind."

Oh, as if that wasn't ominous.

Ron and Hermione shot him sympathetic looks (even Sue Bones did, strangely enough).

Five minutes after class had ended. two minutes after the last Ravenclaw had left. Without looking up, Snape said simply, "Your detentions will be with Filch. He requires them to start at 6pm." Still looking down at his book, Snape's lips quirked up, as if he'd read a particularly funny continues.

That was during dinner! Harry'd have to leave early. It sent a queer pang through him, just the thought.

Harry nearly bit his lip through, trying not to bite back at Snape. That never helped, never ever, and Snape was mad at him now. No need to make things worse.

Dinner was full of people exclaiming about how unfair Snape was to be targetting Harry, again. Apparently nobody's noticed that Harry'd started it, which just made Harry feel weird agreeing about Snape being a bastard (which he was), and completely unfair (which he wasn't, in this particular, unexpected, case). Harry tried not to look uncomfortable, and tried to peek over at the Slytherin table. Maybe someone had seen? Maybe not? They were supposed to be working, and Goyle had been. Even Crabbe, who loved to loaf and not do work, particularly where people could see (Harry assumed, as he always did turn in the homework. Although it was perfectly plausible it was merely copied wholesale from Malfoy's. Harry wouldn't have thought that last year - it would have been a foreign concept, treating Slytherins as just another House.)

Time was, Harry had thought that the worst professor to have steamed at you, was Professor Snape.

That time was yesterday. This morning even.

Today, Harry was rapidly learning that the worst person to have angry with you was Filch, particularly when he was the one assigning detentions.

The privy, the loo, the Water Closet.

Whatever you wanted to call it, they stank when they backed up. And Hogwarts hadn't always had working plumbing.

Filch, even, laughingly had scathingly said, "Don't complain, boy. I've still got composting toilets from two hundred years ago for you to clean! So don't whinge."

So, it was good to know things could be worse. It was much less good to hear the description of maggots and other twisty crawly things wiggling their way through and on human feces.

Harry thought he might vomit just from the description alone.

And he was going to smell like shit for the rest of the day.

He felt a brief stab of pity for the caretaker, who had to do this, and he really didn't blame Filch for wanting Harry to do this.

Harry still grumbled, though, "You've just got it out for me, for ruining your floors, even though you didn't need to clean them afters."

Filch grinned, a craggy, yellowed thing, "Of course I'm angry, you fool boy." Harry rather liked that form of address more than simply "boy." He knew better than to tell Filch that though.

Instead, Harry schooled his face into innocence, and asked, "Shouldn't you be taking it out on Snape? It was his orders and his assignment!"

Filch smiled a smile that Harry'd never seen on the man's thin face before. It was sad and sympathetic. "Can't punish a man who's too busy punishing himself."

That did not sound like Snape. Snape had a dark and fey humor about him. He wasn't always sad, or angry. Yes, his humor was black as pitch, and had that subtle stickyness to it, but he was not truly dour and gloomy all the time.

Harry had work to do, and even though he knew Defense in the evenings was important, he would do it next week.

Really.

It wasn't like crises popped up every week, now did they? No, it was more like yearly, Harry thought wryly. Break the stone, Kill the Basilisk, Save Padfoot, Survive the Tournament, Upbraid the Pink Abomination...

So he'd probably even manage what he was promising. Honest!

But, tonight, he wanted to find the right Weasley product. He was up to the middle of the first week of this year, surely he'd have it done by the end of the night.

Well, he would if he didn't go to Defense.

So, Harry set about playing sick. It was easy enough to look half off his food at dinner (and to not pay attention to anyone, excepting Hermione and Ron). Standing up middinner, bending half over the table, and covering his mouth was a good touch, Harry thought. He'd run off to the bathroom, and halfheartedly told Ron, "I'm fine." in that tone he always used when he was "sick but not dying," which really just meant "Not the Infirmary AGAIN!"

By the time Harry'd made it back to his dorm, it was near-empty. Gryffindors were at Defense, and nobody'd really spared the thought to wait for a sick Harry.

Just as planned.

Harry darted up to his room (never wise to linger), and started scrutinizing the Twins weird scrawl.

Harry nearly nodded off once or twice ( he really needed to get more sleep), but about ten minutes before the Gryffindor Grouse hit, Harry found it. Cloying Clods, of all things. They were designed so that older brothers and sisters could give one to a small child, and the child would be quiet by virtue of their mouth being stuck together. They also happened to taste like mud this week, hence the clod. But that wasn't why Harry'd remembered them. He'd remembered the side-effect, that occurred right after - insatiable hunger. He'd thought, at the time, that Dudley would have exploded if he'd gotten one. Yes, Harry would admit, he was rude, but at least he didn't go around putting his fists on Dudley.

_Finally!_ Harry thought, pulling out some blank foolscap._ I have a letter to write._

Harry had composed half a dozen different letters to the Weasley Twins. This was important, and they didn't generally do important. They did mischief, and chaos, and deeds that were crazy after the fact. So, Harry needed to make this count. And, to persuade the Weasley Twins, you had to be both clever and fun.

Harry had eventually (over an inkwell's worth of ink) decided on the excessively formal. For a boy with holes in his pants and tattered trous, it was a funny thing. _Snape would have sniped, An Arrogant Thing, but that would be why Harry would NEVER use this formality with the crotchety, disagreeable old Potions Master._

_Dear Terrible Twins,_

_In my time of need, nay of desperation, I write to you, for you have the answer to my most fervent prayers._

_I have read in your missives of multifarious experimentations, large and small, bright and black._

_What I have need of is one of your more recent creations - the Cloying Clods. For I have a most devious prank, tuned towards one of the least light-hearted personas within this house of learning._

_That is, if they still have the side effect of leaving one with a voracious, nigh unsatisfiable appetite?_

_I should be happy to offer you a berth in my quarters, should you have need of one after such a long journey from London._

_Make haste to me, the schemes I weave are intricate, and the planning must be done beforehand._

_Your silent partner,_

_HP_

Harry folded it up again, knowing that Hermione could have added much more folderadoo, but that it would sound more authentic with Harry's relative inexperience. And that the Twins would have conveyed whatever he'd wanted, even if it was half the shop and all the stock of Peruvian Darkness Powder. Perhaps he could get Ron to write to the Twins, asking for some basic supplies? Pranks might not be Harry's expertise, but everyone was looking a bit strained, and perhaps a bit of laughter might come in handy...

Everyone else was fast asleep in their beds by the time Harry slipped up to the Owlry. He didn't especially want to explain to Ron what he was doing writing Ron's brothers.

Harry woke the next day to run. Circling Hogwarts was different than running from Dudley - he'd always needed to be aware, because sometimes Piers was hiding somewhere, or Chuck or Mark, on occasion. And the older boys would trip him just on general principle.

So it wasn't that he was unaware... but here, there was a certain sense of peace and quiet, even if Snape might jump out of a bush at any moment. Harry wished he would, but it was a futile wish, and Harry knew it from the start. You didn't get anything from wishing, life had taught him that.

So he sent is feet plunging on, while he spun thoughts out like spirals of stars, glimmering on the midnight blue velvet of his mind.

It was one thing to have the motive. Motives were cheap, Harry'd found. Oh, how he'd wanted the Dursleys to like him. Hadn't ever really helped, truly. They'd just gone on hating him. He'd been a lot younger than he was now when he'd ripped the desire to be cared for right out of his chest.

Harry would, hopefully, have the method - he knew he could count on the twins, as much as anyone could. They owed him, already. But they weren't exactly the most methodical experimenters... Perhaps he'd have had a quicker answer if he'd simply have asked for something to cause an insatiable appetite? Live and learn, Harry thought, his body beginning to burn.

The opportunity? That would be substantially more tricky. Harry continued his next circuit, his mind on Cloying Clods, not the clods on the ground. He was lucky he didn't trip to be honest.

* * *

It was Thursday, Snape thought his eyes raking the Great Hall. His eyes caught Potter's, sharpening as they raked over the boy. Harry Potter's eyes looked down nearly immediately. Not a glare then, but an inquisitive look Good. Let him question all he likes, just keep his bloody mouth silent or I'll stitch it together with unicorn tails, so help me God.

Snape's eyes kept moving, resting briefly on Granger and the boy Weasley. They were behaving as usual, so it was probably safe to assume that Potter had gone back to his usual form.

Snape's eyes flicked over the Hufflepuffs, finding the usual Smith's pomposity, and Ernie's effervescent rolling of the eyes. _If I could ever manage to be so pleasantly sarcastic..._Snape thought with a petty jealousy.

The Ravenclaws were in fine form today - arguing over whether the world was actually flat or round. Snape knew the Muggleborns had the right of it, but it would hardly do for him to chime in, now would it? Some secrets were better off hidden - at least that was how the proverb was writ. Snape had amended that to Keep all secrets that ye may, for time is still a flying. And all the secrets you speak today, tomorrow will see you dying.

Snape's eyes scrutinized the Slytherin table - the only one he was quite allowed to look at so closely. Not that Minerva or Pomona would say a word - they'd learned the hard way that Snape intervened. Or, Snape thought charitably, they'd simply learned that he'd brook no opposition to simple nosiness. When Pomona had first raised an objection, Snape had simply said, "It's my job to know about all the petty little schemes the students are brewing. Or have your wits gotten so befuddled with age, that you've forgotten your duty to those who might ensnare themselves like a cat in a ball of yarn?" Pomona had sniffed, said "Well, I never! The cheek on you is appalling!" and had stalked off. But she'd never harangued him about his observations again. Occasionally, he'd have a word with her - about a particularly puissant Hufflepuff (any other kind was no trouble at all), that was bothering one of his Slytherins. And she listened, and to the extent teachers could, intervened. Perhaps a class project, or a prefject position - something, anything to steer a Hufflepuff away from a Slytherin who was becoming Bothered.

Malfoy looked tired, and Snape suppressed a vicious little smirk. Of all the things to come out of this merry farce of a year, Draco Malfoy was entirely too caught up in schemes to be at loggerheads with Harry Potter. And vice versa.

Snape had too many other irons in the fire to spend his time acting as nursemaid to two boys who really ought to know better.

Rivalries were one thing, but they ought to end at the Quiddich Pitch, not be carried throughout the school year and used to exude testosterone at a rate heretofore unheard of.

* * *

Hermione had finished her reading at breakfast, and so as she sat down for lunch, she was pleasantly surprised to see Harry was back. He'd been... off. Not "bad" off, just ... sort of missing. Hermione ached to figure out what was going on, but she didn't have any clues at all, other than Harry having disappeared. Generally when he was up to something mischevious (and thus worthy of "don't tell Hermione"), Ron would be involved, and she knew how to milk Ron.

Harry had paid strict attention in Potions class, At least in part to make certain Snape wasn't trying to destroy the entire classroom and everyone in it. That would be uncharacteristic of him, but Harry had learned that Snape was both made out of contradictions, and prone to projecting false images. Harry was dead certain that Snape was truly angry at him, and that meant that _all_ previous bets were off. Particularly all assumptions made about the way Snape would behave while angry. He wasn't screaming, throwing things, or waving a strop.

In Harry's other classes he'd tried a different strategy. The Dursley's had never been much for Harry thinking at all, so he'd learned ways to let himself think, to be creative without them finding out about it. It was like he'd put a sentinel down, ready and able to respond ... dully. The Dursley's had never needed anything more complicated. Most teachers were the same way. All he needed to do was manage the incantations - no matter if he muffed the movement. Sixth Year Spells were hard, or at least Flitwick continued to think so. Questions could be answered by rote, or with a blank look of incomprehension.

All the while, Harry thought. He needed something foolproof. He could count on the twins, at least for this. Spun right, they'd do most anything for a prank. And Pranking Snape? That was like dangling succulent fruit in front of them. He'd have his cloying clods, and probably twice as many as needed.

That is, once he told them who he was pranking.

But that wasn't the tricky part. The tricky part was twofold:

First, get close enough to jam the candy into Snape's mouth. As Snape was inconveniently tall, this was remarkably short range.

Second, get Snape to open his mouth. The easy way to do that was to "rile him up" - he'd always shown a certain flair and consistency about yelling, and that would have to do. No, there was something that was harder... but perhaps more rewarding indeed... Stunning Snape with something oddly shocking. Yeah, that would do it, Harry thought, Leave Snape with his mouth open wide too - make an easier target than if his gums were flapping.

At dinner, Harry was flipping through his potions book, looking for a potion that could be corrupted easily. There needed to be some presumption of "I made a mistake..." Plausible deniability, even if Snape himself would shred the whole concept to pieces in his billowing wrath.

* * *

After dinner, he went to the Room, finding Hermione inside, trying to spell words in the air. At the last, her '"n" came out looking suspiciously like a "u"

Harry, leaning against the wall near the door, laughed, "What's a chickeu?"

Hermione turned around, half in the air, coming down on both feet - a solid stance, her 'wand' in her hand. She took three deep breaths before she answered his question. "Obviously a misshapen duck! With a wattle and spurs!"

Harry laughed at that, longer than it probably deserved. He was still laughing when Ron came inside. Ron smiled, one of those free smiles that Harry and Hermione never really seemed to have - Hermione could do glee, and unreserved delight, sure, but Ron had this level of nonchalance that neither Harry nor Hermione ever had.

Draco Malfoy entered on cat feet. No, not literally. Harry was watching the door, or he wouldn't have known. Malfoy flung a spell directly at Harry's scar (he was probably just aiming between the eyes - that had to be a coincidence, right?). Harry flicked out a Protego, shielding Ron and Hermione at the same time.

"Dangerous in a fight, that," Draco said, almost in a hiss.

"More dangerous to lose allies because you didn't do what you could." Harry said with a firmness that simply felt right.

"Let's go," Draco said. He didn't give the Gryffindors time to switch sides, so it was three against one. Draco was holding his own, if barely, seeming to slide between spells.

"How is he doing that?" Harry hissed.

"I don't know," Hermione said, "Ask him, not me."

It was good advice. "How are you doing that?" Harry called out.

"Later," Draco growled, fighting closer to them.

Harry had a sudden idea - Malfoy was using maneuverability...

Aquamenti would take care of that. Harry cast it behind Malfoy, and just a split second before Hermione got a spell off. Malfoy tried to sidestep, but stepped on a far slipperier surface than he was expecting. He slid down, nearly at their feet, his teeth bared as he hissed a stunner right up into Hermione's face. Harry tried to loom over him, using Accio to nick Malfoy's wand, but the impact of it slamming into his hand sent him down on one knee as well.

Ron was laughing at all of them, Hermione, with her hair for once pin straight, and Malfoy and Potter both dripping on the floor. Malfoy moved towards Granger first. He was halfway there when Ron rasped out, "Hermes Trimegistus." The three of them were suddenly tall and straight, standingupright, their hands clasped in each other's - including Hermione who was still unconscious. It was passing strange.

Ron danced a bloody jig. "I won! I won, for once!"

"Try doing that on a real battlefield, ya git." Malfoy growled, the silvery smile he sent after taking most of the sting out of it.

"Already have," Ron said, giving Malfoy of all people a goofy grin, "it works like a charm."

After Ron woke Hermione, she started in on them getting properly refueled after exercise. Eventually, Harry was able to get a word in edgewise, calling for Dobby to bring them some meats and sweets.

As the food was whisked away, Hermione and Ron started to bicker - again. It was perhaps a sign of how comfortable they were. Harry'd never be that comfortable, not with anyone. He was naturally more guarded than that. Showing weakness just... wasn't in him. He supposed that was why the Sorting Hat had wanted him for Slytherin. He wasn't a natural liar, far from it. But he did guard his secrets dearly.

Ron and Hermione walked out of the Room, still bickering. Harry was nearly on their heels, but - instead of leaving, shut the door neatly, turning around to look at Malfoy.

Malfoy's steel grey eyes looked back. He had his poker face on, but Harry was suddenly sure of Malfoy's curiosity. No one stared at someone else with that much intensity except if they were trying to riddle something out.

"A Poker face doesn't work if you're so obvious about it, you know..." Harry said, clipping his consonants deliberately, even as he said the words slow as honey.

"You wouldn't have said that two years ago." Draco Malfoy smirked.

"There were a great many things I wouldn't have said two years ago," Harry said, trying to turn facts into a threadbare fantasy. He didn't want to look like someone who'd... just recently woken up from a deep dream, even if that was the actual truth. He'd rather Malfoy think he was newly talkative, newly engaging. Harry knew a lot about watching silently - he wanted to keep Malfoy's image of him, prior, to be the person who watched you carefully enough to stab you in the back - not the affable gent who didn't bother even paying attention.

"What will you say today, I wonder?" Draco Malfoy's voice was casual, nearly light. It was a deliberate stance, deliberately masking his interest. Harry wasn't sure quite why he was doing so, of course - Harry knew Malfoy was interested. Maybe... habits were hard to break?

"I need your help," Harry said firmly.

"What are you offering for it?" Draco Malfoy smiled smugly.

"Bit greedy, aren't we?" Harry cut back, raising an eyebrow.

"Alright, what do you want me to do?" Draco Malfoy said.

"In three weeks time, we'll be creating a ..." Harry explained.

Draco's mouth nearly hit the floor. "You want to prank SNAPE? Have you lost your mind?"

Harry shook his head, and perhaps something about the intensity behind it leaves Malfoy speechless.

Draco looks at Harry, that sort of searching stare that Slytherins do so well and often. "This isn't just a prank is it?"

Harry shrugged, eloquently, his eyes steady.

Draco nodded, "For a favor of my choosing, I'll help."

Harry said, "A favor of roughly equivalent value, and not something that'll get me in major trouble."

Draco nodded back, respecting Harry's conditions, "Okay."

Harry let Draco leave the room first, summoning a sword and swinging it in a wild full-circle around himself. It was starting to seem like this might actually work.

Order Meeting Saturday.

After the last Order meeting, Harry had been exasperated. It had seemed the height of stupidity to not have Snape's insight.

And then Harry'd been informed that Snape was listening to the entire meeting.

That had been deflating.

But that didn't change certain matters of solidity - The Order Meetings were _bloody boring_. If Harry and his friends hadn't worked their arses off to get into the meetings in the first place... he'd have recommended skipping them. But no, they'd been so determined to be Full Order Members... Now they were eating their own words, and having to smile through it all.

Maybe Hermione was learning oodles of useful information. Harry really ought to ask. Belatedly, Harry's guilt caught up with him - why wasn't he learning as much as he could? Order meetings were fantastic opportunities (even he didn't believe his own poppycock, but he was going to try).

That left the problem of how early to arrive. Harry'd arrived early, before, because it was interesting - watching Snape set up - camp I guess you'd call it. Watching where everyone else sat. The rest of the younger order members arrived later.

The Twins! The twins were coming. Oh, gods above! Harry thought. I _can't_ be explaining what scheme I'm running, not _just after an Order Meeting!?_ _His_ face! Oh, my god, I have to stop this from happening!

Harry knew he was often not on time for Potions class (and the rest of the classes, really). But, this time he was going to arrive nearly late, intentionally. That just sounded wicked, and not in a "this is awesome" kind of way.

Maybe he could get Hermione to help him? Harry thought hopefully, before the reality that _Hermione was always on time_ reasserted itself.

Harry had to arrive just in time, and leave as quickly as he dared.

He couldn't stop the niggling feeling that Snape was going to keelhaul him in front of the _entire_ Order. Not that Harry didn't deserve it.

Harry had a sudden burst of inspiration. Hadn't Draco created a room where others could create what they wanted? Harry would create a door, and a place to hide behind it. Then, right before the meeting officially started, he'd emerge.

What could go wrong with a plan like that?

Harry was at the Room early. 8am sharp. The meeting was at 1pm, a truly odd time for something important. It wasn't the evening, and it wasn't break of day. _Probably Dumbledore's idea. He's always so busy... But maybe it was Sirius or Snape - Sirius because it was his house, and Snape because nobody can stand him before noon, anyhow. I wonder if he's actually more genial towards students? Maybe, if you take into account the Order having his mortal enemy-ies in it. Remus and Sirius can't have done his temper much good, even if Remus knows how to hold his tongue._

He walked inside - the room was odd, kind of grey and formless. A nameless distance away, there was a door. Harry went to it, and entered, standing in a small place (no bigger than my cupboard at home) and closed the door. As he did, he could almost feel the edges of the door disappearing. At least he still held onto the handle, or this might have been a dangerous place to get back from.

Harry, rather belatedly, pictured Ron and Hermione searching the entire castle for him, and then telling Prof. McGonagall, who would charge through the entire castle, a battleaxe in flight, trying to find her lost lioncub. And, because Harry was _stuck in here_, it wouldn't work. This was probably the last place anyone would think to look for him. Well, perhaps excepting Snape and Malfoy. Malfoy, because he'd been the one to show Harry how this worked, and bugger it all if the bloke didn't like peace and quiet a lot of the time. You'd never catch him in the library - he ghosted through there, walking up to get a book and leaving as quickly as could. Harry only really knew about it, because Harry walked the castle when he wanted to think. Malfoy liked high places, tiny little perches in half a dozen towers. Not generally the Astronomy Tower, but most of the others. You could tell when he'd been at the North Tower, because he'd have the faint whiff of Trelawney about him. And Snape? Snape seemed the type to sulk, to want lack of perception to aid him in disciplining his own mind. Malfoy had mentioned a time when Snape had been out of control. Seriously, out of control.

It was actually slightly bothersome, to think that all those times Harry had been terrified for his life - or worse, expulsion, that Snape had been _entirely under control_. Maybe that was why Dumbledore hadn't seemed to take him seriously? No, that doesn't seem right.

Snape strode in first, at a quarter to twelve - he looked double-wrapped, like he had two sets of robes on; it was almost, but not quite, enough to mask how thin he still was. "Melody," He said, and a house elf appeared. "Potato Leek soup, and some warm sourdough." _Leave it to Snape to like even his bread sour._

Snape ate quickly, and Harry tried not to stare too obviously at his hands shaking. _Was that nerve damage?_ Harry wondered, nonetheless.

Snape had finished eating, finished even twiddling his fork around. He stood, vanished the plate, and retreated back into a long shadow in the corner. _He put that there himself, damn his rotting hide_, Harry thought with some amusement, _hadn't realized that was intentionally put._

Snape started a lonely melody -

_Home is behind_  
_The world ahead_  
_And there are many paths to tread_  
_Through shadow_  
_To the edge of night_  
_Until the stars are all alight_

_Mist and shadow_  
_Cloud and shade_  
_All shall fade_  
_All shall fade_

Harry hadn't ever thought about Snape singing before, not really. He was a hard man, with armor made of shattered glass. He didn't seem the type. And yet, listening to the song, Harry found it fit. Snape had a voice that was like molasses while singing - not particularly deep, but well flavored, and dark as anything. It held a surprising amount of warmth, too. Rough shod, a bit like a hug from Hagrid. _And wasn't that a thought._

Snape seemed out of smugness, just tired, leaning against the wall, as if everything was just a bit too much to bear. "Attending these meetings is like dancing without a partner. Not nearly as effective, and I still have to watch for punches. If there's one thing to be said for the Dark Lord's service, at least there I have dance partners!" Snape sniffed nearly soundlessly, "Still, I suppose there's something to be said for Gryffindor muddle-headedness. They'll dog through, long after everyone else is rotting in their tombs." Snape shrugged, almost awkwardly - which just brought home the fluidity that Snape had made his own. "After all," Snape's mirth seemed broken, like a shattered windshield, as if another strike would send glass everywhere. "There's always another Gryffindor."

Harry had a sudden, disquieting thought. _Is he talking to me? Or is he just talking to himself? _Harry didn't want Snape to know he was there, observing. It felt ... invasive. Like Snape had been willing to let down a shield or two, just for the price of no one looking. _I hope he doesn't know I'm here._

Dumbledore came in, just then, before Harry'd properly had time to consider coming out. Properly had time to consider if the old spy had known he was there, and had decided to be talkative. The uncertainty twisted in Harry's guts. "Severus, come have a seat at the table! Would you like a lemon drop, or some tea?"

Snape said curtly, "You never have the tea I like." Without changing his position at all, Snape said, "I'll stand. I'm comfortable here."

"Oh, well, if you insist." Dumbledore said, "Only I did conjure this table, and these chairs, and it would be such a shame..."

"There's always one less seat, and you know it."

Dumbledore sighed, "Only at your insistence. You always conjure your own..."

Snape smirked, the look in his eyes like icicles dripping wet, "That way I can be sure you haven't... done anything."

Dumbledore looked at Snape, in the shadows where he was difficult to get a read on, "I've done too much in my long life. Many things I'd rescind, if given half the chance."

Snape smiled, a smirk that grew to fill his face. "Fewer things than I have, I'd wager a griffin on it."

Dumbledore chuckled, "I'd take your money, and you know it. How many regrets do you have, of things _not_ done on my orders?"

Snape said quietly, "Why, those are the only things I regret." It was strange, to hear a knife being wielded so skillfully, in Snape's own hand. You'd have expected it to come out in a fury, or be a pointed observation, or something designed to hurt. It wasn't. It was a simple statement of fact, and that made it hurt all the worse.

Dumbledore didn't show it, his poker face rivaled Snape's when he needed it to - and didn't it say something, that Dumbledore didn't want to admit that Snape's words hurt?

Hermione and Neville came in next, Neville excitedly laying out some plants. They seemed unaware of Snape, and Harry thought there was good odds of Neville overturning his chair when Snape made his presence known.

Remus drifted into the meeting like a wolf on a shaggy moor - gray blending in with the brown gorse. Snape let his eyes pass over Remus - or at least that's what Harry assumed he was doing, leaning in the shadows like that. Vance and Shacklebolt arrived nearly simultaneously, moving towards where Snape was - until his venomous voice diverted them to less quarrelsome lodging. Minerva McGonagall strode in, tartan flashing from within her dark robes, and scanned the room. Her eyes met Snape's, and she nodded slightly, swiftly striding around the table to wind up in a chair beside Snape.

McGonagall said, "Five galleons that Potter beats your whole team."

Snape sniffed back, "You don't have Potter this year, Minerva. Are your wits leaving you faster than your cat hairs?"

McGonagall said, "Apparently. Your robe's still black after all."

Snape said, "How is your new seeker this year? The rumor I heard had her losing the snitch on the playing field."

McGonagall laughed, a hard one that wasn't amused, "Stuff and nonsense. You know that's as impossible as anything."

Snape said, "With a Weasley, who can tell?"

McGonagall continued, "Will Malfoy bid the snitch come to his hand, with all those lordly manners?"

Snape sneered, "Have you not noticed those falling away? His tutors did a substandard job to begin with."

McGonagall said, "In another year, he may even be able to pass for human!"

Snape said, "How long did it take for you to manage that one, Felicity?"

McGonagall continued, "Two years after the transformation. I've also developed a fascination with killing snakes and skinning them."

Snape smirked, "You didn't have that _before_ the transformation?"

As the quarreling continued, Harry slid out of the door he'd been inside - he didn't escape Hermione's "Oh! Harry, there you are! I was trying to remind you of the meeting, but... you made it!" Harry sent her a grateful smile, as he grabbed a seat across from Snape, and then did his best to not look at the man. Snape had been trying to hide, Harry didn't want to draw more attention to him.

Mad-Eye Moody came in by throwing open the door so loud it boomed. This had the effect of silencing all conversation except whatever Nonsensical Quarrel was going on between Snape and McGonagall. Moody took a scan around the room, his wand drawn, and then he smiled. Unlike Snape, who rarely showed even devilish delight, Moody's smile was craggy, and often seen. It was a smile of victory, most often.

Moody came over, grabbing the seat beside Harry. Harry's eyes flicked over at Moody, _Don't look at him. What's he doing over here?_

Moody didn't pay much heed to Harry's quandary. Instead, he leaned over, and said in Harry's ear, "What the hell did you do to Snape, there?"

Caught, Harry looked over at Snape, who was sending a deathglare at Moody. Or Harry. Likelier Harry. Awkwardly, Harry shrugged, unwilling to explain to Alastor Moody, paranoiac in chief, exactly what had pissed Snape off so much. Actually, Harry wasn't sure he could explain it to Moody, who'd probably say cattily, _Isn't Snape friends with the Malfoys?_

Moody responded to Harry's shrug, "You have him madder than a nest of Nagas!" Harry was honestly rather horrified to see how ... _approving_ ... Moody was of this new development. "Why I haven't seen him this mad since Black-!"

Harry turned slightly to Moody, asking a sudden question, "How'd you get him to cool off?"

Moody roared a laugh, which got an even deadlier death glare out of Snape, as Moody clapped Harry on the back, hard. "Don't suppose I rightly know. I like him better mad, you know? Never had call to try calming him down."

_Great, just great,_ Harry thinks, _I'm sitting by the crazy madman who wants Snape this nettled-angry. _And thinking about how mad Snape was at him, was making Harry's stomach twist in knots. _Hope I don't vomit in the meeting._

The Terrible Weasley Twins entered next, nearly the last people to arrive. They sat beside Harry, and started making faces at him. This was being normal tomfoolery from the twins, so Harry didn't pay it much heed. However, he noticed - almost in passing - Snape's eyes losing a bit of that death glare. Did he not want Harry talking to Moody? Wut was that? Was he concerned, that Harry might learn something? Other than Moody's deliberate noninterference with the Black/Snape verbal donnybrooks. Which, seemed obvious, now that Harry thought about it. Even when they'd been reduced to listening at the door of Order Meetings, they'd always been able to hear Black and Snape standing off.

Harry suppressed a loud laugh that wanted to emerge from his throat, as the far twin decided mimicking Snape's current glare (complete with batwings flapping around his ears) would be the best use of time and magic.

Mrs. Figg, still smelling of cats, was the last through the door. She had so many pages of papers in a box... And every single one of them had cat hairs attached. Harry had known she was some sort of lawyer (paralegal?) when he'd been seven and had seen her working, but it was all too easy to forget that the Old Cat Lady actually had a competent head on her shoulders.

"Order!" Dumbledore belted - it was easy to forget that, when he tried, Albus Dumbledore could boom his voice in a manner that Snape never quite managed. Snape was one for the quiet, leather and shadow voice that commanded attention in the classroom. Dumbledore's general tones didn't command respect, they merely asked for it. So everyone (including the twins) bounced at the noise, falling silent as there were thumps on the seats.

Molly Weasley took the floor, more reporting on gossip than on anything substantive. Harry knew it was important, but really didn't need to know how many cats Mrs. Frobisher had acquired, or really why Mr. Silv needed more clothespins. Harry sent a quick, darting glance at Snape, who'd crossed his arms, leaning back against the corner of the room (that Harry would insist, if asked, that Snape had created simply for that purpose alone). Snape looked surprisingly like a Raven, with one beady black eye trained on Molly, as if she might drop something shiny entirely by accident. Or, if one were of a more morbid bent, Snape looked like death itself, newly crawled out of a grave. He wasn't leaning on that wall by accident.

Come to think, Harry thought, by now having nearly discarded paying attention to Molly, Snape leaned up against things more than anyone else Harry'd ever seen, and that included Draco Malfoy, who'd practically turned leaning into an artform! I wonder if he did that before his first bout of the Cruciatus Curse, Harry thought grimly. Probably not. Snape's 'predisposition' to leaning meant that nobody marked it as weakness.

Tonks' stories about the Aurors, and their rumors, were a merry lot of fun, but not much information, as far as Harry could tell. Snape sent her a glare when she told a story about mixing up two potions and nearly causing an explosion instead of healing her superior. _I bet she was just as clumsy in class as she was at Grimmauld._

Art Weasley's report was more gossip, interspersed with Muggle digressions, "Did you know that eklitricy comes in two forms? One straight and one that rhymes?" Harry was honestly confused as to why nobody'd bothered to interrupt. _Didn't anyone here have something important to get back to?_

Mrs. Figg's report was dry and bookish, but at least she understood the value of conciseness. It covered her inspections of various children born as the seventh month dies.

By the end, Snape jeered and sneered, "Albus, surely you can't think this a good use of resources..."

Albus gave that soft grin that said he really, really did. "Of course it's imperative," Albus said, "We must find the baby mentioned in the prophecy..."

Snape, looking unflappable, said, "Or?"

Albus continued, implacably, "Or Tom wins."

Snape sneered, "We may not be able to defeat him without the Promised One, but do not mistake that _for letting him win_." Snape raked his bright gaze, confident, controlled and perfectly furious at the entire room. He then crossed and uncrossed his arms, which really did look a little like a bat's wings flapping - if, that is you didn't notice his fists.

Snape's own report, this time, was as entertaining as his discourses on The Art of War** - Pieces seemed to leap to life - Snape's discussion on the goings-on of Lucius Malfoy alone took over half an hour, and that was with Snape confessing dryly that he still hadn't much of a clue what Lucius had been doing. Snape had further discussion of the Dark Lord's priorities. Alarmingly, Snape had been asked to detail Hogwarts' defenses. Harry exchanged a look with Hermione on that.

"Traitor, crawl back to your hole!" Moody jeered.

Snape turned, leaning over the table - Moody tensed, ready to leap to his feet with wand in hand. He said coldly, "They say it takes a traitor to know one."

Moody snorted, "Ain't no doubt of my loyalties."

Snape looked smug, "As you say, I suppose I wouldn't know either." With that scrap of wry humor, Snape swooped out of the room with a flourish.

Harry tried to pull his attention back to the meeting. It didn't work, necessarily, but he tried his damnedest. What he mostly understood was the strain on everyone. The sense of a fighting retreat. The line he remembered most was Shacklebolt's "Travers won't listen to a blasted thing I say anymore!"

Moody's cackling laughter had followed, "I told you he'd bend, not break."

And that was the problem, wasn't it just? They didn't have enough resources, and the Dark was pushing at all their weak points. Snape had even said that Lord Voldemort had been looking at invading Hogwarts._ Was that even possible?_ Harry thought, _It had to be. Snape's not preparing us for a war we'll reach years from now._

Hermione gave a brief report about "Dumbledore's Army" (blessedly ignoring the idea that there were Slytherins, Death Eater among them). She used a whiteboard, drawing figures and signs. Harry hadn't told her that they were essentially helping Snape continue to teach when he was ... indisposed. Harry vaguely thought he should, and then vaguely thought he shouldn't. How was he supposed to tell her how he knew this? Wouldn't she just lecture him for having a go at Professor Snape again? And that's if she believed him.

After the meeting, Harry found his broomstick and took off. Something was bothering him, as much as he didn't want to be bothered by it. Snape had said with perfect sincerity that he wasn't a traitor. That was an odd thing to contradict someone on. They all knew it, didn't they? Dumbledore's spy. Harry had a sharp recollection of Snape being cackled at by Bellatrix last year - she fully believed he was a traitor.

Yet, Harry could easily see Snape saying, _My side is comprised of me alone. I look out for myself, you nitwit._ Harry didn't believe that, as far as he could throw it.

Had Snape been lying? What was the point to lying about something... so obvious? What was the point in telling the truth if it wasn't?

Harry got off his broom with questions still swirling like the wind a half mile high above. He headed for his dorm room, to get a quill and parchment. He had an unassigned homework assignment to do. Not that harry would expect a grade.

**No, harry's not read the book. Snape capitalizes while speaking, though.

*peruse sounds like the type of word Snape would have used. Repeatedly, in the classroom. Harry's not incapable of remembering words, just doesn't go out of his way to pick them up.


	32. Smug Arsehole

Minerva McGonagall well remembered her school days at Hogwarts. She'd been prefect (not Head Girl), and had quickly developed the nickname Hawk's Eye, both for her ability to find even the most minutest problem, and her ability to ignore it when appropriate. That had been the nickname the Slytherins used, at any rate. From what she'd heard, the Ravenclaws had picked it up too.

Most of the time, she ignored the petty squabbles Snape got up to with her Gryffindors (when she wasn't nursing a private hunch that he liked certain of them more than he let on.*)

This wasn't most of the time.

Minerva McGonagall wanted answers. She brought a bottle of single malt scotch, for patience.

Quiet as a cat, she glided up to Snape's private quarters (it was a Sunday and she'd already checked with Poppy that Snape wasn't brewing), all the while using her feline senses to listen for eavesdroppers. All clear. It was a bonnie November day, and the children were outside - many watching or playing Quiddich.

Minerva curled her hand into a fist, and brought all four knuckles down on the door, three times. "Snape, you ol' nyaff bampot, open up!" She'd been patient, particularly with Snape's ... condition (whatever it was, she knew better than to ask) - it was never a good idea to talk sense into a stupidly prideful ill man. He'd just make himself sicker with arguin'.

Snape's door swung open, seemingly on its own. Snape was inside, cautious as ever - instead of greetin' her proper, he lifted his chin. It was a beckoning gesture, and she entered accordingly, slamming the door behind her.

"What's a crazy ol' doylem tabbie mog doin down here?" Snape said, slipping as easily back into his 'natural' accent as Minerva did, though he, of course, used his fair less often. Minerva flattered herself into thinking that he only used it around her - there were certainly few enough people who remembered how he'd sounded his first year. He'd spoken fair and far between - it was only because she'd given him a personal pick-up talk a few times that she'd heard his voice, for real. "Ca! Ya here fer summat canny sense?" Snape made a face that on most people would have been a grin, but on him had far too many teeth.

"Here to knock sommat dat bonnie good sense into yer gob, sure enough." Minerva said. She merrily seated herself on his desk, slamming the malt down so hard it splashed up the side of the bottle.

"Ya know I don't drink, moggie." Snape said, looking down his nose at Minerva. His seat deftly crept up a few inches, so they were at eyelevel.

"It's fer me, you big damn lummock." Minerva cried.

"Howay, man or haddaway home." Snape said, crossing his arms.

Minerva poured herself a drink, "Drinks first, then talk."

"Drink too much, and all you'll be good for is weepin'." Snape said, with a knowing glint in his eye. Minerva knew he drank, but never as a social thing. She rather suspected when he drank, he was likely to break whatever was around him, and it was safer for all if it wasn't someone's teeth.

"Toity twat," Minerva said with a sniff, "I'll drink as I please." She knocked back the whole glass o' whiskey, and leaned over the desk. "Somethin's wrong, and you're goin' to tell me just what, or you'll be explaining to Albus why I'm not at my first period class. AND havin' to substitute, as I know you have that period free."

Snape's eyes glinted, though his face was stern. "Yer pushin' your luck with the threats, you ain't that much of a wazzock."

Minerva poured another glass, lifting it as if she was truly drunk, "You just watch me try!" Of course, as a properly drunk Scottishwoman, she flung the liquor in a line that bent to nearly over her shoulder. Her entire face gleamed with the challenge.

"You would, you mangy old mog, wouldn't you?" Snape said, looking down his nose. "I could always toss ya out in the byre with that huge oaffish gadgie."

"Ya could, if you didn't larn nothing from the last time you tried to take advantage o' me. Nae, an ye want a lang donnybrook, ya'd start it like that. And what how!" Minerva poured herself another drink.

"Oh, don't be such a daft radgie," Snape grumbled, "Your point's fair and sunny. Now, could you kindly be more specific? What the divil are you worrying about? That's supposed to be dawgs what do that, not felicitous murder machines."

Minerva's lips pulled back at the compliment. "What the devil in the deep blue sea is going on with you and Potter?"

Snape contemplated the question, letting the silence grow. Minerva knew the trick, and it wasn't going to break her. "Divvin' be so nebby." Snape spat.

Minerva said, "If not me, then who? Ya know how much I hate the dank. Takes quite something to get me down here."

Severus groused, "Aye, you're bein' a proper workyticket, ya mog."

Minerva shot him a bright smile, "With bells on!"

"The filthy, infatuated ignoramus has been stickin' his nose where it doan' belong." Snape snarled, and Minerva blinked. That was quite a bit more emotion than even Dumbledore managed to evoke out of Snape, and Dumbledore was really quite good at the poking. She'd waited too long -

Snape continued, "Nae, tis worse than a' that, true enuff. Aka fyeul took it into his head to do worse than gep around." Snape looked down his nose at Minerva, "And ye kna he does that more'n tis healthy for man nor beast."

Minerva, feeling all of her craky joints, said, "Sounds like a certain young Slytherin I mind from way back..."

"Four furry dogs and a mouthful of clackers sure drowned that!" Snape said, in a tone that Minerva recognized as sharply contained mad-laughter. "That champion clarty lad has got to refuse to dee as he's sure been telt!"**

Minerva shook her head, "Nae wonder yer in fine fettle here. He's sure kicked off a heap of trouble."

Snape looked up at Minerva, and hissed, "He'd gotten, nevermind how," Minerva interpreted, more from his face than his words, _Oh, so this is your fault. Poor luck for Potter, then. You never could admit fault easy, could you? _"The madcap idea that I'd had a Gryffindor friend."

Minerva looked at him in open interest. _Did you-?_

Snape shook his head, denying the unasked question. "For what buggering reason, I dinna knae, but he blithering has to ask Draco Malfoy about that lang ago!"

Minerva froze, her eyes widening. While Snape would, in public, call Lucius Malfoy a friend, it was in truth more of an uneasy truce. Minerva slowly shook her head, "The gall of that lad," she whispered.

"Blasted scrounger couldn't even be bothered to ask me!" Snape said, entirely oblivious to the fact that no child would ever voluntarily stay in his presence long enough to dare a question. Not even his Slytherins.

"Or me, or Dumbledore, or Remus Lupin." Minerva said, crossing her arms. "Sumpin's not right wi' this. Did he think your friend was a Death Eater, perhance?"

Snape nodded slowly, "A very good point, that; one I hadna though o'."

Minerva studied Snape, "You're plannin' on fixin' his wagon, aren't ya?"

Snape's smile was unctuous as tar, slow, without showing a single tooth. "O' coz,"

Minerva nodded slowly, "Well, that certainly explains why ye've been glarin' at him fit to burn his hair off."

Snape chuckled lowly. Minerva did still remember that bit of accidental magic he'd done, in her class, when Black and Potter had been fooling around near Lily. It had been fourth year.

Minerva asked, calmly, "Do you intend to forgive him?"

Snape said, "He's lost my trust. Forgiveness is one thing, but I canna trust meself half the time. I dinna have time for this, sure enuff." Snape waived his hands dismissively, "After the war. Maybe."

Minerva sat up, and said sternly, "Then, you ol' rotter of a Slytherin, get your own emotions under control. You can't be so steamed he's sure you're going to kill him while he natters away, in his sleep an' a'"

Snape was never one to take criticism well, but he simply closed his eyes, and nodded.

Minerva said sternly, "The nerve of that boy."

Snape said, "I'm never sure whether Lucius has truly forgotten my insignificant place at Hogwarts, or whether he's just holding it as future blackmail material."

Minerva chuckled, and then smirked, "Be grateful that snake isn't using it for current blackmail material."

Snape sighed, and said, "I am, believe me."

The conversation turned onto other subjects, as the two professors relaxed in a way they'd never do in public. Both stuffed shirt types, though Minerva's upbringing was a bit more luxury than Snape's. They both held dignity and respect as founding virtues.

By the time Minerva tottered up to her room, it was lang past midnight, but she didn't care. She'd gotten answers, and that was important. Now, what, if anything to do with the answers?

When Draco Malfoy had agreed to let Potter teach him how to be a better Seeker, he'd been expecting tips. Demonstrations. Something like what that ridiculous (and marvelously effective) Defense Club was doing.

What Draco Malfoy got, this rainy Sunday in November, was Harry Potter playing MatchUp.

Which wouldn't have normally been a problem, per se. Draco was decent at brooms, and better at playing catch-up than at finding the snitch in the first place.

Draco Malfoy had seen Harry Potter on a broomstick at least a hundred times by now (not that they were supposed to be watching each other's practices, but a Slytherin never gives up an advantage easily). Potter generally was this peculiar sort of "genuine happy" that Draco Malfoy never could manage - not to act, not to be.

That wasn't the Potter he was confronting today - this one was mad. Draco had rather a lot of experience making Potter angry, so he couldn't help but wonder who'd done it this time. Well, that was, when he wasn't dodging the Mad Gryffindor.

Potter was capable of death-defying feats with a grin on his face. Witness first year, and swallowing the snitch.

ANGRY Potter was more of a harasser - Draco had to keep his eyes more on Potter than on the snitch. And not just because Potter had better eyes for that glorious glint of gold.

Draco saw Potter turning, two stories above him. Nearly instinctively, Draco pressed his chest to his broomstick, using the decreased wind resistance to get the hell out of the way. As he pulled himself out of the careen, Draco caught a glimpse of black-on-black, from the 3rd floor hallway the infatuated girls loved to use to ogle the Quiddich teams.

Snape, his mouth curled down into a slight frown.

Draco couldn't tell whether Snape was there to prevent 'unnecessary deaths,' or whether he just wanted to watch the flying, but Draco somehow felt better knowing he was there.

Draco banked as he saw Potter homing in on his position, trying to look behind him to at least catch a glimpse of the snitch if Potter'd seen it.

Both boys had salt caked to their faces, and dripping wet Quiddich uniforms by the time they were done. They shook hands (Potter managed a smile that seemed forced), and headed for the lockers before dinner.

Harry Potter was early at breakfast, his mind more focused on classwork than it had been - which, of course, only told him how much he had to do.

That was what you got for ignoring classes entirely for a whole week.

Harry scrawled answers to the Charms homework while eating a scone. Hermione joined him quickly, looking surprised that he was up that early. Halfway through, Harry looked up and whispered at Hermione, "The second part of Gantz's Law?" Then, of course, he realized that Hermione had been reading more than eating, so she hadn't heard.

Surprisingly, Neville (when had he gotten here?) looked over and said, "Transfiguration reverts in time, guided by the amount of magic poured onto something. There is no true permanent Transfiguration."

Harry blinked, "Then how do you explain the castle."

Apparently, their conversation had gotten Hermione's attention, as she looked up from her book. "It's really quite fascinating! The magic is drawn from all the students, into a perpetual motion machine powered by us all."

Harry whispered, "So a Hogwarts without students..."

Neville nodded, and Hermione continued, "Would not be a Hogwarts at all."

At this point, Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown plonked themselves down, and everyone realized they had five minutes to finish eating. What followed was a delicious, frantic scramble.

* * *

Because they'd been talking, Harry wasn't nearly first at the Defense classroom. Instead, he walked in on, well, a pile of girls (mostly Hufflepuffs, with a scattering of Ravenclaws and Slytherins) trying their best to outcompete each other for Malfoy's attentions. Malfoy, of course, looked like he might die from boredom.

Of course, that situation only lasted until they saw Harry. The Ravenclaws fairly flew at him - and at first he was concerned that they were going to compete for his attention, but then Chang grabbed his hand - and with her tug, he belatedly realized what they wanted.

They wanted him with Draco, of course.

Draco Malfoy gave a snort, "We broke up. Didn't you see us yesterday on the Quiddich pitch?" _No one was watching us yesterday._

Harry Potter took that as his cue, and started backing up, tugging Chang back with him, "No, I'm not going to kiss and make up, not for love or money." Harry executed a perfect about face, only to see ... Ron, and Hermione - and Ginny behind them. Thinking quickly, Harry ripped his hand out of Chang's loose grip, and made for the door. As the Gryffindors (wisely) parted around him, he winked at Hermione and Ginny, and muttered, "April Fools."

Naturally, Harry was not watching where he was going, so of course his luck held true. As he whipped his head back around, all he saw was black fabric. Rapidly receding black fabric, as Snape backpedalled. I don't blame him, who would want to be knocked over by a kid half your age and size? While you were walking into class?

Snape sneered, "Is there some reason you are exiting the classroom? Are you really so eager that you're heading to your detention five hours early?"

Harry gulped, shook his head, "No sir, sorry sir, avoiding a bit of an altercation sir."

Snape snorted softly, "It would appear that the Defense Classroom is exactly the place for an altercation. With a teacher present, of course."

Harry just nodded, turning around and doing his best to glide into the classroom. He'd been humiliated enough, for one day.

Snape strode to the front of the class, paying zilch attention to such pesky annoyances as Potter and his ilk. He then lept gracefully and softly onto the stage, before turning around to regard the class. "Form groups," he said clearly.

By this point in the year, that was a red flag - so Harry didn't move from where he was standing. He was more curious about what other people would do than about what he'd do himself.

Everyone seemed uneasy. Hermione and Ron wound up together, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because they had started out close together. (Ginny had disappeared to her next class, of course). Harry smirked as Ernie and Chang came over to him. It seemed like most people had decided to stop having preferences in class, because you never knew what the hell was going to come next.

Harry kind of liked that attitude. Better was the fact that it meant the houses were scattered around the room. When Nott joined Harry's group, he was still reading a book - but it was clear that he meant to be with them.

"The signal is on three," Snape said, his voice forboding and mild at the same time. Harry could see a number of hands rising - Hermione's among them.

"One" The first number had people settling - satchels being laid near the side of the room, people shifting into more combat ready stances.

"Two" The second number had Gryffindors and some Slytherins drawing wands, which the other students hurriedly mimicked.

"Three" Wordlessly, wandlessly, shadow consumed the room. Harry could hear curses, and hexes, and just spells aplenty. Seemingly over it all, there was the sound of Thump, Thump, Thump. Hermione was trying to cast her bluebell flames, but Harry knew a better trick, if he could only get it off.

He pasted himself to the floor, debated for half-a-second about heading towards the nearest pile of satchels, and settled for tucking extremities under his body. In his mind's-eye, Harry pictured a shade, wrapped around a glowing ball bright as the sun. He could feel his magic making it real. He could feel people around him, slinging spells above his head.

Harry closed his eyes, shielding them with his arm, and then he let the light soar. He heard a collective scream, and then everything went black.

* * *

Harry woke up where he had ... blacked out? On the floor. Spells had stopped, for the most part, and the ones Harry heard were minor healing spells. Harry cautiously pulled his arm away from his face - light. He cautiously opened his eyes.

"The entire class was felled, some by their own stupidity, and some by the stupidity of others," Snape said, his eyes hitting Potter for that second, "And some were struck down by me."

"Your assignment, you worthless bits of mouldy slime, is to write what you'd do better next time." Snape said, his mouth smirking, "And you may pray that I do not ask you to demonstrate it." Snape's eyes found Malfoy's, and then Granger's.

It was clear the class was done, and Harry rose to leave, a sinking nearly nauseous feeling in his chest. Why did it hurt so much that Snape wasn't looking at him?

"But Sir! I'm still blind!" Zach Smith said.

Tracey Davis said, "Yes, I don't think I can find my next class!"

Snape's silky voice informed them, "I can hardly be expected to deal with such unexpected contingencies. You might try the person who caused the blindness." he said the last with a bit of asperity, before leaving the classroom at a clip.

"Who's that?" Justin asked.

"Me." Harry said, "Who's got Charms next? It's closest..."

Harry had this niggling feeling through breakfast, but it was only at lunchtime that it resolved into an actual Thought. _Snape wasn't looking at him_. Harry... didn't really know what that meant. Oh, he understood anger, sure - and Snape was often angry, or at least had been pretending to be.

But, expressionless? _Ignoring_ Harry? Harry was pretty sure even after the Shrieking Shack incident, Snape had been glaring at him from the High Table.

This was unnerving. Harry wanted to stomp right up in front of the entire Great Hall and tell Snape to _stop it._ (Harry valued his life, so he wouldn't actually be doing that.)

* * *

The rest of the day flew by quickly, as Harry looked forward to Defense Association, to which Harry managed to arrive... early.

That was less fortunate, as Malfoy was already there, using Pansy and Goyle and Nott to set up brewing stations.

Harry's nose wrinkled. Potions was his least favorite class.

Malfoy snapped at him, "Something the matter?" Harry had the distinct impression that it was Malfoy's favorite class, and not just because he was really good at it.

Harry decided on honesty, "I hate potions..." he groaned.

Malfoy smirked, "You'd rather die than drink one?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "I hate _making potions_, you tony git!"

Malfoy said, "When was the last time you tried in Potions class?"

Harry says automatically, "I always try..."

Malfoy said, "Then why do you cut your elderflowers the same way in a Cheering potion as in a Pepper-up?"

Harry shook his head, "The book doesn't say to do it differently."

Malfoy said, "Granger gets it right."

Harry said, "Hermione also reads four times the books assigned."

Malfoy nodded, "That's known as trying in Snape's class. He likes self-sufficiency." Harry, remembering some of his summer training, thought mockingly, _does he ever!_

Hermione bustled in, Ron on her heels, "I really think we need to learn blind-fighting, and stat. You just know it's going to be on his next exam." _Shite. How did Hermione always know?_

Malfoy crossed his arms, "Well, then, it's a pity that it's my turn to teach, because we're doing potions."

Harry chimed in, "I'm still not sure why we need to learn potions for Defense..."

That was the wrong thing to say, as both Hermione and Malfoy rounded on Harry.

It took about five minutes to get a word in edgewise, they were so invested in proving that Potions were needed in Defense. Harry was taking detailed notes in his head for the first four minutes, until Hermione started repeating Draco's lines and vice versa. You never knew what Snape was going to put on an exam.

"Sounds like we should be doing potions, then," Harry said, and he swore he saw someone behind Malfoy and Hermione grinning. Maybe Ron? No - Goyle.

Neville, who'd come in sometime during the heated... discussion (for Draco and Hermione had been on the same side of the argument, and Harry hadn't said boo for five minutes...), said with a bit of a sigh, "I hate potions."

"Here, sort these," Malfoy said to Longbottom, passing him some truly bedraggled fluxweed.

Neville nodded and got to it, as Harry sat down beside him, "What are you doing, Neville?" Harry prompted.

Neville started to say, "Some of this fluxweed has mildered, and other stalks of it have been dissolved, eaten away from the inside." Neville spoke with all the authority of an expert Herbologist. Harry nodded along, vaguely familiar with the concepts because Aunt Petunia had always liked a fresh bouquet of roses every day. "This bit over here is dried..." Neville paused, a confused look on his face, and then he strode over to Malfoy, "Hey! Wait a minute - _what_ were you _doing_ with these herbs?"

Malfoy looked at the intensely curious Gryffindor-wall, and smirked, "Nothing in particular. But do you think Potter, or Granger or Weasley would have caught both?"

Neville shook his head, "I love them, of course, but they aren't necessarily the most detailed people ever."

Malfoy continued smirking, "You'd do better to look to Slytherin for that, it's true. Now, do you know what having poor quality fluxweed does to a Pepper Up potion?"

Neville looked startled, "Um, no! I just know how to find the right ingredients."

Malfoy flipped a heavy book out of thin air, "Read up. Tell the class before the end." Malfoy looked at the rest of the class, "Can anyone tell me why Pepper Up might be useful in combat?"

Potter raised his hand, and said slowly, "If you're pinned down, and can't sleep, you may need to stay awake. A larger plan may be stretching your personnel resources too think."

Malfoy smirked and said crudely, "Or maybe you stayed up the night before finding some relief from your ... nerves."

Granger sent a glare at Malfoy (even though he really wasn't even talking about particularly _male_ impulses...), although the comment garnered a few chuckles.

"Today, we're going to run a clinic on ingredient preparation. There's not a person in this room that won't benefit, even if you already know the terms." Malfoy said firmly.

"Including yourself?" Ron asked, and for a wonder, he wasn't confrontational.

"Of course." Malfoy said, "Much of this is muscle memory. You need to be able to get a quarter inch cut even when you're half-maimed, dazed, or blinded."

They got to work. It was a much better introduction to Potioneering than Snape generally gave. To the point that Harry was belatedly diagnosing problems with some of his potions that year...

"Take note, ladies and gentlemen," Draco Malfoy said grandly, "Over the course of three hours, Neville Longbottom has relearned how to dice, chop and slice." Draco grandly looked down at the wooden board, "Why, I'd be hard pressed to say that i could do better myself." Neville just blushed beet red behind him. "As far as I'm concerned, keep him away from the cauldron and chopping!"

Harry had gotten a lot out of Defense Club yesterday. He'd even taken notes about halfway through (unfortunately, Hermione hadn't, or he'd have just borrowed hers). He hadn't realized until he was due at the Room of Requirement, just how much of his choices this year focused on DADA and the War. Not that he minded the focus. But he'd wanted to study, to try out - with some grass and hay - some of the cutting techniques...

No rest for the wicked, as Aunt Petunia liked to say, her wooden spoon out as she supervised Harry's kitchenwork.

Thusly, it shouldn't have surprised him, when he found Parvati Patil sitting in a chair in the Gryffindor Common Room, her face wet with silent tears.

Harry's steps slowed, then stopped. His mind sifted through ideas, before he plopped himself down on the nearby couch, looking indirectly at Parvati. Harry sat in silence, trying to look considerate. After all, she was clearly in a lot of pin. A long time passed, a fulminous silence that Harry's mouth longed to break.

He remained quiet.

It took about five minutes, before Harry cracked, "What's wrong?" he asked in a voice that he hoped was gentle, and not timid.

"I can't get Anthony to notice me!" Parvati said "and I've tried everything!" She burst into a new bout of tears.

Harry had heard of Parvati's reputation, but - like most reputations - he was fairly sure it was exaggerated. So, Harry looked at her, and asked, "_Everything?_" The implication entirely underlined for the sheer bluntness of it.

"Okay, well, maybe not _that!_" Parvati said, giggling.

Harry said, tentatively, "Maybe, if he doesn't even look - he's not interested?"

Parvati said, "Oh, but there's no one else, I've looked! All around him - even Padma, my twin... He never seems to have eyes for anyone..."

Harry nodded. "I'm not sure how I can help you..."

Parvati promptly swallowed him in a hug. There were times he hated being little, and this was one of them. He'd rather be looking over her shoulder, or tucking his face into the back of her neck. And, worse, he could hear Seamus calling him lucky bastard!

Parvati sat back on her chair, clutching the pillow to her chest. "What can I do?" she asked to no one in particular.

Harry reflected that it was quite a lot easier to handle a girl he wasn't good friends with, when she wanted a good cry. It didn't make his heart hurt as badly. He was also wondering why she wasn't confiding in Lavender Brown - no, that wasn't exactly what he was doing. He was longing for the days when she'd have just talked with her best friend. He knew perfectly well why she wasn't doing that today.

Ron Weasley.

While Harry hadn't been paying attention, Parvati had had an idea. He could see it written in her face, in her straight back and enthusiastic grin. "Could you, Would you pretend to date me! Anthony would HAVE to look at me then!"

Harry resisted the urge to take a step backwards, as he was sitting and that would have _gone poorly_. "Uh? Me?" He asked awkwardly, "Why?"

Parvati said, "You're Harry Potter, Gryffindor Seeker and Boy Who Lived."

Yeah, that was what I thought she was going to say. "No, dating the Boy Who Lived will just get you hexed," Harry said firmly, watching as Parvati seemed to deflate in her chair. "How about Seamus, or Dean?"

"I've already dated Seamus - that won't be news," Parvati said dismissively, "And Dean won't date me because of Seamus - he'd call that poaching."

"Neville?"

"Bo-ring." Parvati said.

At this point, for some stupid blinded reason, Draco Malfoy popped into Harry's head. He tried to restrain the thought, really he did.

Harry, for once, had managed to keep his thoughts to himself. That hadn't helped Parvati, but he hadn't really thought it was a good idea to help her anyway. She liked drama more than was healthy, and if she really did have that Ravenclaw, she'd be plotting something even more insane.

So it was, that the next morning, Harry rose with a will and a way.

But, mostly, he awoke with words crackling through his mind like lightning on sand.*

"Why hadn't you told me that my mother had a Slytherin friend?"

Those were... _safe_ words. _Reasonable_ words.

Words that wouldn't implicate... Snape.

Well, wouldn't implicate him more than the memory itself would, and they all had the memory anyway, or the question wouldn't make a whit of sense.

That question put the questionee on the backfoot, and demanded a different answer than "Friends With Snape" ever would. And, really, that was the question that Harry wanted answered. Why people would withhold that, why even his photo album had been scrubbed of Snape - _Had Snape been a vampire? _some witty part of Harry's mind quipped back. _Nah..._

It wasn't a question that Harry was going to be able to swallow down, coil up in his belly until it ate him from the inside - or burst forth anyway.

Still, Harry did his best to concentrate on classes. Somehow he knew he was very, very far behind.

This was only proven more true when he got to Snape's class. Snape, in all his munificent wisdom, had posted a blackboard. It had simply said, _Find me. _Well, were this a normal defense teacher, with a normal outlook on life, the universe and everything, that would have meant Detection Spells.

Harry'd gotten there before everyone else, that question ringing in his mind loudly enough to encourage quick eating. Even classes made a better distraction than mere victuals.

So, instead of starting with a detection spell, Harry drew out his wand and started lobbing a fireball around the room. A blue fireball, of course, Hermione's bluebell flames spell was incredibly useful - at finding disillusioned people. This took about five minutes, but Harry was done before even Zach could come through the door. In point of fact, he opened the door to Zach, nodded, and kept walking. "Aren't you coming to class?" followed after him in Zach's ever officious voice, truly one of the eleven wonders of the world.

It was essentially a free period, if you wanted to consider Snape as "Probably Missing" and "Possibly Doing Something Important."

But Harry'd always liked puzzles (even if Hermione was better at solving them), and he meant to find Snape. But sheer determination wasn't generally good for much against a wily Slytherin.

Harry had a smug arsehole to find. The only question was where he would be. The dungeons would be the obvious choice, that was where he lived. But the strategic mind said "Go High" - and if Harry was wrong, he would at least have gotten to see the view. So Harry headed up, towards the top of the North Tower. At least if he was wrong, he could probably spot where Snape was lying low.

As the wind riffled through his perpetually unkempt hair, Harry grinned down at the grounds. Then he looked again. _Hagrid, of course!_ It was one of the least likely places to find the Saturnine Professor - Harry couldn't help but think that Hagrid rubbed Snape wrong, even though Snape generally managed a pretense of courtesy around the Gamekeeper.

The lack of students around Hagrid's was the dead giveaway. There was always someone there - Harry hadn't noticed Goyle in particular, but despite the near-grown man's size, he was still a Slytherin - slipping away when he saw the Gryffs trundling up...

Harry ducked around a bend, meaning to head through the entrance hall. What he saw within froze him - the entire grade of Slytherins, arguing about where Snape could possibly be. It was Pansy that caught his eye, and said forthrightly, "Looks like Potter's got a clue."

Crabbe, in his best doltish voice, said, "Why can't we just follow him?"

It was a solid question, and Harry didn't exactly care if they followed him - he wanted the "classroom glory" sure, but didn't object to allies trailing in his wake. _Find Me_ didn't exactly tell you what to do when you got there, now did it?

Harry was about a third of the way from the greenhouses to Hagrid's Hut, when the first stunner slid by him. As soon as he saw that, he did his best "snake impression" - belly to the ground, eyes up - and ready to hiss out a spell, once he had a target. There was a loud sound from behind Harry, which made him roll to the side, giving him enough of a view to see... They'd gotten Pansy Parkinson, and she hadn't been near Harry at all.

Whoever was calling the shots up there was sharp. Probably not a Hufflepuff, and definitely not Hermione. As more stunners rent the air, Harry hissed, "Down!" Hurriedly, the Slytherins obeyed, even the ones with solid shield spells up.

Malfoy crawled forward, the grass stains luckily (for him) hidden on the black fabric. His voice was mocking, "What now, O Battle Leader?"

"Fearsome Battle Leader to you," Harry snapped, with a smirk following just after. "Recon. Take your three quietest people, and circle left."

"Doesn't leave you with much to work with," Malfoy observed, smirking.

"On the contrary," Harry smirked, "I _want_ to be making noise."

"We will do better with a known distraction," Malfoy said, sounding satisfied. He crawled back to the Slytherins (including Pansy, who'd been woken, and was blinking blearily). True to form, Malfoy took Nott and Pansy. Harry wasn't surprised at the choices, nor at Malfoy's own presence. He was too power-hungry to let someone else take over.

What was that saying? _Plans never survive contact with the enemy?_

This was _far worse_. They'd _had_ unknown erstwhile allies, hiding in the grass. Until they'd nearly stepped on them, and Constant Vigilance had routed both sides, leaving both too weak to assault the center.

Granger's team showed up while they were still regrouping. Harry wouldn't have known it was her, without knowing that Moody had trained her. She'd sent the rest of her team in on a Gryffindor mission (somehow Goyle was involved, and he looked as out of place with Lavender and Seamus as sesame with chocolate). They'd had decent shields, but they were almost not needed, Granger's own targeting (she'd climbed a greenhouse, which meant that any lucky fellow beneath her could see-no!) perfectly sufficient to strike down all the defenders.

As Snape yelled, "TIME!" he strolled out of Hagrid's Hut, perfectly coiffed.

He hadn't even cast a spell the whole period, Harry figured.

"Your homework assignment is to relay as much of this classroom as you can understand. "

**This is North for 'do as your told' which Doctor Who fans should recognize.

*NOT Potter. Not _everything_ is about Harry Potter. Guess in the comments.


	33. Devil in the Details

For once, on the way back to the castle, Harry wasn't around the Gryffindors. Ron, for a wonder, had been part of the first wave to find Snape, and had been busy with the second part of the task, which was defending Snape as if he was a Chess-King.

Harry couldn't bring it upon himself to be annoyed at having been one of the slow ones, for once. He knew he was good at defense, and, knowing that, didn't have to care about his grade as much.

It helped that everyone knew Snape favored his Slytherins. Harry didn't worry quite so much, when the grade was gonna be skewed no matter what he did.

The Slytherins had turned to go back to the Castle first, so Harry trailed after them. Still, it was surprising - felt like an actual, unlooked-for, gift, when they started to complain.

Oddly enough, it was Pansy, not Draco, who fumed, "I can't believe he wasn't in the castle! We split up and searched everywhere."

Draco had his hands in his pockets, with that ineffable casual confidence that Harry always envied. "We did our best, Pans."

Goyle asked, "But how did Potter know?" in that dully plodding voice he generally used. It was remarkably effective, if you wanted people to think you were just a dumb brute. This time, Harry saw through it - saw the slight manipulation, the drawing of the conversation away from frustration and towards a solution.

"New perspectives bring new insights," Harry said, doing his best impression of a fortune cookie.

Draco glanced at him sidelong, before hissing, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Standing atop the Astronomy tower, I saw Hagrid's hut. It was quiet." Harry said.

Goyle nodded slowly, "It's never quiet. Someone's always doing something down there."

Malfoy smirked, but didn't say anything derogatory. _I wonder how it felt for Greg, when he's worked with Hagrid, to hear Draco badmouthing the big man?_

"Oi!" Ron Weasley called, as he hurried up to Harry, "Did you even make it to class today?"

Harry looked back with a smirk, "Isn't that supposed to be Hermione's question?" Ron and Harry shared a belly laugh, but Harry was certain the Slytherins were just as amused, they were just being quieter about it. Which, in a way, was the polite thing to do. One wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, after all.

Harry Potter tried to pay attention throughout the rest of the day's classes. Really, he did.

He had moderate success, which was to say, Hermione's notes would always be better than his, but at least this day he knew what had been covered, and could even half-cast the required Charm.

Dinner tasted completely tasteless - Ron and Ginny's roughhousing more than made up for it, and had Harry in stitches as they nearly rolled off the bench onto their arses. Harry chanced a glance at the high table during this fracas - _He's not looking. _which was altogether strange. Snape had a particular fondness for taking points from rowdy Gryffindors, so this seemed straight up his alley. But nothing.

Had the poor rotter just been looking to take points from Harry Potter, then? Or Harry Potter's friends?

And what in the world did it say thyat now he didn't want to do that?

Harry still wasn't sure about that, but he had a somewhat vague realization that whatever the reason for the removal of points, it hadn't been about spite. Because Snape was plenty spiteful on a routine basis.

And it had been _targeted_. Unless Snape was just laying aside his standard routine... in favor of Ignoring Harry?

That seemed even more unlikely.

Harry had the strange idea that he was tying himself into logical pretzels. However, he didn't get the feeling that any of it was off. Perhaps Slytherins just thought that was normal? Twisting themselves into logical pretzels just for the fun of it?

Harry leapt off the Gryffindor table, seconds before Ginny had Ron pinned on the bench, where Harry had sat.

"Help me, mate." Ron wheezed, his neck squeezed between Ginny's wrists.

"You made your bed," Harry said, turning away, "Might as well lie in it."

Harry was mildly perplexed to see Millicent Bulstrode's mouth quirk up at him, as he strode from the hall. When had it become okay to listen in? Moreover, when had it become okay to care, to enjoy each other? Harry was pretty damn sure that mouth, at the beginning of the year, would have just made a crack about Weasley getting whipped by his wee little sista.

_Had he actually changed things that much?_ Harry shook his head,_ Nah, too cocky. Had Snape, and Harry, and yes, even Draco Malfoy, changed the school? Oh, it wasn't like everyone was suddenly snapdragons, but things were better._ Harry felt a sudden stab of guilt, and a yearning to be _doing something right_.

Harry Potter squared his shoulders, and knocked on Minerva McGonagall's Office Door. This was the first time he'd come without being summoned since first year. And that... had gone poorly. In retrospect, trying to suggest that the Villain was Severus Snape was something that the Head of Gryffindor House couldn't have taken seriously. In fact, they were lucky she hadn't laughed at them outright. Too unprofessional, that.

"Come in," Minerva McGonagall's voice barked, welcoming as a drill sergeant - her voice all but telling you to kneel.

Harry entered, one of his hands curled around the wrist of the other behind his back. He shut the door behind himself, and approached the sitting woman.

Shrewdly, she eyed him, "Those defense lessons must be doing you some good, at least. You're looking like a proper soldier at least." Harry nodded crisply, so she continued, "Well, go ahead and have a seat and tell me what's the problem."

Harry tried to look innocent as he looked up into Professor McGonagall's eyes, "What problem?"

Professor McGonagall's voice seethed with swells of laughter. "What, did you really come for tea and biskies?"

Harry shook his head, mutely. "Can... exactly how private is this place, anyway?"

Professor McGonagall's eyes crinkled at the corners. "That depends on the people you need to keep the knowledge from, of course. You'll find no Slytherins have bugged this place since I started working here, many a year ago." Professor McGonagall actually smirked, "I believe the Weasley twins have at least three bugs in here, and it's possible the old Marauder one is still functioning."

Harry nodded slowly, considering her words. "Good enough." It wasn't Snape's growl-or purr, it was a crisp sound that was more parade drill than anything else.

"Why didn't you ever mention that my mum had a Slytherin friend?" Harry asked, turning those green eyes on Professor McGonagall, as if by sheer force of will he could guilt her into answering.

Professor McGonagall stood, looking Harry over as if she was scrutinizing an ant. This took minutes, but Harry'd learned not to fidget. At length, she moved toward the side of her office, where she depressed a brick, and opened the hidden door, that had seemed just bricks in the wall. "I have decided to allow you to enter my private quarters, as the questions you are asking are of a personal, not professional, nature."

Minerva McGonagall entered, and Harry was right on her heels, steeping away from the path of the door as she closed it. His eyes caught the sumptuous, but not overdecorated nature of her quarters, done in browns and golds, with hints of ocean blue accenting. A far cry from her plaid office.

"Yer're a right little cheap shite, you know that?" Minerva hissed at Harry Potter.

Harry blinked, once, startled first by the heavy Scottish brogue, and second by what she'd said. He hadn't realized McGonagall knew how to swear, really.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, cautiously advancing the words.

Minerva's pointy finger started poking Harry's chest. It hurt, slightly. "You canna get over yerself to think about anyone else."

Harry just tilted his head in question, waiting for her to continue.

"Ever think I might have a damned good reason fer not tellin' ya?" Professor McGonagal said.

"Honestly? I couldn't conceive of any reason you wouldn't... that was why I asked." Harry blinked in puzzlement at her.

"Laddie, yer not in my office now." Minerva said, in a tone that Harry more associated with someone who's drunk than sober. "These here are my rooms. Out there, you're my charge, and I have some sort of rubbish Professional Obligation to you."

"And in here?"

"In here, you're my guest, and on my sufference. Tread lightly, or you won't be the first I kick out."

Harry nodded soberly.

"Now, ta answer ya question?" Minerva said, eyes sparking, "He's my friend, whether he likes it or not. Merlin knows he could stand someone who wont' be a fairweather friend. And that's private business it is," Minerva leaned almost on top of Harry, her finger starting to poke him in the sternum again. "Bit of a sore subject, innit? Might be the sort of thing that you oughtn't to tell an eleven year old."

Harry swallowed, "I still wish someone'd told me."

Minerva said, "I told Hagrid not to, if you must know. Not that I think I was the only one."

Harry smiled at that, "I think that's the one secret Hagrid managed to keep."

Minerva smiled thinly, "He keeps many more secrets than that, I'm sure."

Harry frowned, "If I... hadn't have weaseled it out, would I ever have known?"

Minerva nodded, slowly, "At some point, yeah. Count on it."

Harry nodded, thinking, "I'm sorry for being such a shite, Minnie."

Minerva snarled, "Get out of here, you dingbat!"

And Harry ran.

Harry Potter got to the RoR in time for training, for once. He'd started to stretch and relimber himself (classrooms were tough, you got all scrunched in one position, and then it hurt getting out). Hermione had arrived next, a flash of surprise at seeing Harry there, which had Harry fuming at himself. He liked practicing, he liked getting better at this. He didn't want to seem just a fair-weather student, at this at least, if not at other subjects.

Malfoy was there next, arriving like a stormcloud, both diaphanous and dangerous at once. He wasn't stretching, but was amusing himself by tossing around light conjured objects.

Ron, as per usual, was later than everyone else. He, too, was determined to do a good job - Harry could see it in the way he carried himself, the way Ron studied the field.

As Ron shut the door, Hermione and Malfoy turned to him as one. "How'd you know?" They both asked, Hermione's urgent voice rising high, and Malfoy's voice his usual casual drawl.

Harry couldn't resist, he started clapping, "Nice, two part harmony."

Malfoy turned a fierce glare on him, and said, "Oi! Says the tin ear!" his voice sounded casual, so the other two wouldn't have any idea of that flash of fury in Malfoy's eyes. Harry blinked, realizing that anything that implied a closer relationship between Hermione and Draco was probably treading towards dangerous territory. Harry creased the edges of his lips down, into what he hoped looked more like a frown than a pout. He nodded slightly, and Malfoy turned away -

Just in time to hear Ron asking, "What's this about, then?"

"You did it." Hermione said, her hands on her hips, "You figured out where Snape was going to be - and before I did!"

"Before me too," Harry chimed in.

"I'd like to know how you did it." Malfoy drawled, his eyes glittering with suppressed malice.

Ron shrugged, "Nothing to it, was there?" He shoved his hands in his pockets - he was actually made uncomfortable by praise, and was trying to look more casual than he actually was. "I counted who was going where, and then I headed in the direction with the least people."

"That's it?" Hermione rapped out. "How'd you know it would work?"

Ron said, "I didn't, not really. But I figure - what kind of a lesson is it if he's where everyone thinks he'll be?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and then stared up into space, "I am surrounded by idiots. And vanquished by them." The second sentence came out more as a sigh than anything else.

"That's right!" Harry said, grabbing Malfoy in a headlock, and starting to rub his head with Harry's knuckles.

"Oww! Not the hair, not the hair." Malfoy whinged and whined.

It had the desired effect. Everyone was laughing, including Malfoy as Harry finally released him. Malfoy made a big production out of reapplying hair product, saying, "If I don't put it on straightaway, it will look simply awful the entire rest of the week!"

Harry shrugged and said, "Pretty sure mine looks awful no matter what."

Malfoy looked down his nose and said, "I'll lay that at the feet of your awful relatives." A sick flush tried to roll through Harry's body. He didn't want _anyone_ to know about his relatives, but _Malfoy_? That was like baring your belly to an angry cat. Malfoy continued, "You've never even met DeAngelo, have you?"

Harry blinked, trying to refocus his thoughts to the conversation at hand. "Can't say that I have. I haven't even heard of him, really."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and said, "And you call yourself a wizard?"

At this point, Hermione interrupted, "Just because he's not a ponce, doesn't mean he's not a wizard, Malfoy. I presume you're talking about DeAngelo Rosa, the same wizarding stylist that Lockhart used?"

"The very same," Malfoy said, smiling, "Not that I'm surprised that you remember which one Lockhart used. You had quite the memory in that class, as I recall..."

Now Malfoy was the one starting trouble, Harry thought, moving quickly to separate the two brains before their brawn won out (or worse, they might start _kissing_...).

"Two on Two today," Harry said, not waiting for anyone to say anything before starting to fling spells deliberately to _nearly_ hit his friends.

Hogwarts finally had something to gossip about that wasn't about Harry, or his friends, or even people he'd cared about. Harry cared so little about it, he hadn't even bothered figuring out which House it was about. Maybe someone had the ability to fart puce, and that had occupied all the attention of the entire school.

Harry didn't care. It was nice to savor freedom at breakfast, it happened so rarely. Instead of picking at his food, Harry dove in with a will, idly trying to match Ron in volume, if not speed. There was no way he was keeping up with Ron's speed. Hermione looked at both of them over her book, before - Harry could see the wheels turning- deciding it wasn't worth asking about.

Neville had no such wisdom or compunctions. "Quite an appetite there today, eh Harry?"

"Ymnfl!" Harry said, talking through what he was eating, and making sure to smile without showing any teeth - or more importantly, food.

Harry was good at learning from others; Dudley and Ron shared unfortunate table manners, although Ron was less prone to tantrums.

Hermione suddenly took her book and shoved it to one side, "Neville, come look at this!"

Harry felt inexplicably shut out at that, a sharp pang of loneliness. He knew he wouldn't have felt that if it had been Ron she was talking to.

Still, out of curiosity, and only a little of that utter lonely, Harry craned his neck to see what Hermione was showing off.

Snapdragons and their breeding with manticores to create blast-ended skrewts.

Harry had to smile, because that was just Hermione. Who else got such simple, pure joy out of learning? Well, maybe that was why she was showing it off to Neville - they had since sparked up an animated discussion.

Harry leaned back, no longer feeling lonely at all.

Naturally, it was just then that he looked at Professor Snape, whose dead eyes were thoughtfully watching the Slytherin table.

And just like that, Harry was in a bad mood again.

So, some frizzy haired idiot had decided that Blind Fighting was something that novices could teach each other in their Defense After School Program.

There were many reasons Harry was glad Malfoy wasn't here, but mostly it was that Malfoy had a mouth, and Harry would really rather they fight to learn something, instead of to shut him up.

This was supposed to be a lesson in how to fight in the darkness. If so, they'd all gotten Trolls.

And this within the first thirty minutes. Seamus was nursing a black eye, and Dean was trying to hold himself upright despite some injuries to his family jewels. Nott, of all people, looked stumbly - Harry'd have helped, but Bones was already there, her squat short body quite capable of holding Nott upright. Pansy had a smirk on her face, the only one of them completely uninjured, and had drawn a knife and was spinning it, hilt down, in the palm of her hand.

Harry hadn't been at all surprised when slight Luna Lovegood had put her hand in the crook of Hermione's arm and said, "Oh! How thoughtful! Now we have plenty of dummies to practice healing on!"

While Luna had a pretty smart mouth, everyone gave her miles of leeway because most people were convinced she was barmy, hysterical, or just cray-cray. Besides, if you took offense at her words, she'd give you the blandest look, and ask, "Why do you suppose people get so upset to hear the truth?"

Malfoy, whether speaking truth or lies, tended to speak with intention.

Luna just said what she thought. It made her the very devil to argue with.

Healing was one of the disciplines that Harry knew the least about, and it was a very valuable discipline too (Snape had used it sparingly, along with potions, over the Summer. His philosophy had been that if you weren't too hurt to move, you'd best be moving anyway.*).

Harry learned that a lot of Healing was about connection, and about weaving spells. That was why bones were fixed with a potion - it was hard to weave through muscles and other swollen tissue. Healing was also about draining out bad humors, biles and phlegm, and occasionally blood.

All in all, Harry was very glad he was there and paying attention.

Friday was Potions, and Harry _hated_ Potions. Not the subject, although it was far from his best even when he tried really hard.

No, Harry hated potions because Snape was there. Harry felt bad enough about what he'd done when he wasn't watching Snape's back, or accidentally glancing up into Snape's bleak face.

And so, Harry's primary expression through breakfast was meant to be dread, with a certain bit of peevishness about _Why couldn't Potions be later?_

Then the mail arrived, and _everything changed_.

It was another letter from the twins, who had created a sigil for their jokestore which had twin lions with snakes heads on the tips of their tails. The snakes twinned together, almost a Caduceus, and the Lions' claws were tipped with gold, their teeth red (luckily not dripping).

Harry hurriedly buried the note in a book before Ron filched it - or Hermione demanded he tell her everything.

Potions was first, Harry thought, and he rabbited out of the Great Hall, practically out the door before anyone noticed he was off the table.

Harry went straight to that alcove a half turn above Snape's office, somehow in the middle of the stairs to the dungeon, behind a tapestry. It was the perfect place for reading just what the Twins had to say.

The first page was boilerplate, which was to say it was full of different explosions, accidents and general chaos.

But the second page... It had one word in the center of it, a cursive Yes. All around it were other words, as if put on the page by some mad painter, who'd spun the page as he'd worked. It was free association, questions and answers splayed everywhichway. They were curious - as why shouldn't they be? as to why Harry'd want to prank Snape. They wondered about the safety, but more about the fun, and about the intended outcome. Did Harry mean to best their record for Points Off in one year? There were points about technicalities too.

Harry had the strangely certain feeling that this was how they prepared pranks, products, all of it. Two hands, two heads, combining together to make beautiful artly thoughts, that swirled and vibrated as much as they lay on the page.

The next three pages were filled with idle musings, gossip, and a few more entries from what Harry had taken to calling The Anonymous Filer. Harry had read earlier, but hadn't really noticed - no, not until he was reading the letters one after another, that _someone_ was writing anonymous letters to the Twins. Helpful letters, ones that opened new avenues the twins hadn't thought to explore.

Whoever it was, they didn't ask for payment.

It was time for Potions, Harry thought, roughly pushing the letter into his Charms book (if he left it in the Potions book, Snape might take it).

Harry was still early for potions, so he busied himself devising variations to the potion the Twins used to evoke love - in a fairy tale sense. They were using it for some DayDream products, that would let adolescent witches dream about their Very Own Prince Charming. Harry thought it was a bad idea - that Mirror flashed in front of his eyes, but he didn't mind trying to think up some variations.

Harry was so busy working that he failed to notice Snape entering the classroom. "Potter, what are you _doing_? You should know by now that insolence will not be tolerated." There were soft snickers from the Slytherins in the back.

Harry spoke softly, but clearly, "Essence of Murtlap will interact poorly with frostflower, because of their dueling amphibious natures?"

Snape paused, for a split second, and then asked, "Are you asking or telling?"

"Asking." Harry said, lifting his eyes to Snape's.

"Yes, though you'd find more codicils on the subject if you looked up _Fruitful Flowers and other Herbologial Wonders_, rather than _wasting time in class_."

"Thank you," Harry said, turning his eyes down as he flipped to a new sheet of parchment.

"Today, we will be working on a modified Strengthening Solution that is better considered a poison. Can anyone tell me why?" Snape started. Class continued as usual.

Lucius Malfoy strode down the path from the gates to Hogwarts Castle. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was intercepted, and he wanted to enjoy the quiet, for once. He'd had little peace in the last few months, and the gentleness of Hogwarts would do his temper good.

As Lucius Malfoy entered the entranceway of the grand castle, Snape, his erstwhile friend, appeared like a shadow. Unfortunately, Snape's appearance meant words. Lucius pretended, accordingly, not to see Snape - which amused him, because Snape was habitually as silent as a tomb.

It was a waiting game - the sort Slytherins prided themselves on winning.

Luck was not with the Malfoys today, it would seem. Lucius heard the flittery voice of Professor Flitwick, the diminuitively dangerous miscegenous Half, "Why, Lord Malfoy! I was hoping I could have a word with you. It would seem Luck is with me today!"

_So it would seem_, Malfoy thought, unwilling to verbalize losing the match to a Half. He turned from Severus Snape and walked up the long flights of stairs with Flitwick. He knew that, before he'd actually exited the entranceway, Snape would have already retreated to the shadows. He was always more comfortable there anyway.

Lucius loved people - most particularly twisting people around his fingers, wearing them like baubles.

Snape had always been the opposite.

##-##-##

By the time Saturday Breakfast had rolled up, everyone who mattered (the Ravenclaws, and spreading from there...) had heard that Lucius Malfoy was again gracing Hogwarts with his august presence. Snape's eyes flicked quickly around the room - wondering where Lucius' support was strongest. Oh, sure, he had some among the Slytherins (Crabbe and Goyle bettered themselves by standing by his son, after all)... but Slytherins were naturally wary, and Lucius' smooth, silver tongue certainly set Snape off. There would be others like him - Millicent, whose trollish looks were not just a funny joke, and Nott, the terminally shy boy who knew that words were as wind, ready to blow away, and never to be trusted. Then there was Blaise, who Snape would have bet money wouldn't take The Fall. His mother valued independence too much.

Potter arrived, and Snape turned his head away from the Gryffindors, who were in the main boring anyway.

School owls arrived, includig one for Malfoy, whose face paled. As Snape could easily rule out the other causes of that particularly illmannered reaction, Snape realized that Malfoy was looking at a message from his father, telling him to meet.

At least Malfoy didn't need to be told that his father is Right Here.

Severus Snape paced his potions lab, which was nothing new.

What was new, was that nothing was brewing.

Lucius Malfoy had come to Hogwarts.

He was there to negotiate, in public.

Anyone he might need to talk to, presumably, he could call back to Malfoy Manor.

So, it meant something, that he was laying his cards down for others to see.

Somehow, Snape doubted his dear old friend was here to see yours truly. For one thing, he'd have engaged Snape at the earliest opportunity, knowing Severus' tendency to disappear into brewing and be nigh unreachable for hours on a Saturday afternoon. (His coffee addiction generally prompted at least a brief stint at the High Table before he began brewing).

Severus Snape wanted to know everything about what Lucius Malfoy was up to (and, particularly, not about what Filius was up to, which was rather obvious. He always needed some tzotchki or another for his classes. Snape's requests were routinely more expensive, but got approved far more often. The firewhiskey Snape used to dissolve the red tape seemed to work better than Filius' logic. Imagine that.)

Snape's smugness was shortlived, because his curiosity rose like a cobra in his mind.

Was this for Albus Dumbledore's benefit? Snape thought not, but Lucius Malfoy had charmed spots off a salamander once (they had been burning bits of paint that he'd used for cufflinks for a time). It was not out of the question that Lucius might attempt to switch sides - but, at any rate, a public appearance with Dumbledore was hardly the way to do it. It was a sure ticket to torture if caught - and not even Lucius was malevolent enough to wish his own wife tortured insane. Bella might actually pull that off too.

It might be for the ministry's - Lucius wanted always to be known as a powerbroker, and making deals at Hogwarts fit that role to a T. He was one of the Governors, after all - not even Albus could deny him entry, though he certainly could follow Lucius around like a lost, _very_ over-eager puppy - and make any prospects for negotiation shrivel accordingly. Snape had only seen Albus do that once, quite early in his tenure. Lucius had taken the point, and, before His Rise, had only used Hogwarts for the most delicate of negotiations, with hostile parties that did not believe Lucius could be approached without violence. As most people who knew Lucius knew that he regarded violence as an in extremis ploy only, these meetings were few and far between. The last had been an encounter with Augusta Longbottom, a formidable woman whose wandwork was only matched by her temper. Slow to rise, but prone to explosions.

It was probably, in part, for the Dark Lord's sake. In that, Lucius would be demonstrating his worth. The Dark Lord dwelled under a self-imposed house arrest - he could not emerge and make deals nor appearances without ruining his current scheme.

For what little it was worth, Snape sympathized with Lucius - the new minister had dramatically trimmed Lucius' influence in the ministry. He was undoubtedly scrambling to show he was still of value.

All of which was rather beside the point, which was that Snape wanted to know exactly what Lucius was up to.

Burn Potter and his inane stupidity! Snape thought crossly. He'd be the perfect choice. Everyone expects him to go haring off after Death Eaters and information. Snape wasn't desperate enough to use a tool that couldn't be trusted not to slice off his hand. Potter was a blade with no hilt and no sheath, to wield him was to come away as bloodied as your opponent.

Granger? Certainly not. She might actually ask Lucius what he was doing, and lord only knows what he'd say.

His Slytherins knew better than to ask. Lucius was a shark, and they were myriad minnows.

Snape was up early for Sunday breakfast, a Hogwarts Tradition. Everything was traditional at Hogwarts - the house elves were stodgity creatures, and Snape was sure they'd been serving the same food since Salazar Slytherin strode these halls.

His attention was laser focused on the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy sat there, holding court - which was a welcome and decorous change from the persecuted look he'd had on his face, as girls from all four houses had hounded him for months. Draco Malfoy was the sort you didn't want to back into a corner - he left many of those poor, beleaguered girls in tears. The lad had little patience for being boxed in, something Snape shared in common with his godson. Learning patience had been a trial, Snape thought, and one that Draco would have to endure as well. Some things were best taught with experience alone.

Malfoy wasn't being the pompous prat he'd turned into, somehow, at the prompt age of eleven - proud and boastful. He'd been a perfectly respectful child throughout his proper childhood. Then he'd turned into a complete snob - he'd actually been friends with Crabbe and Goyle at one point. Snape knew that Lucius hadn't cared enough to tell Draco to act thus; the deluded boy had picked it up through immersion, most likely.

It had taken Snape _years_ to drum the delusions out of Draco - years of quietly moving pieces behind the scenes. Certainly Flint wasn't one to take a second year shortie's _commandments_. Malfoy was decent at strategy, though, so he'd been given the carrot of actually helping, if he could keep his sneering to himself.

Draco wasn't acting like "I've Got A Secret!", so he probably didn't. He may no longer think himself that important, but a message from the Dark Lord, a command, _something to do_? That would have him acting... well, as he'd always acted in first year. No matter how much of a guise it was, how world-weary the lad was. He'd lived in the same house as the Dark Lord, and that came with certain trials and tribulations. Not that Snape would mention how lucky the little cherub had it. Before the Dark Lord's fall, he had had certain... sexual appetites. They were quite noisy and had prevented Snape from using the library on occasion. Sometimes even the garden.

An unlooked for stroke of luck, Snape thought, in Potter leaving Lucius Malfoy _the hell alone_. It was unexpected, but Snape planned on enjoying his respite from Potter's Gryffindorian antics for as long as it lasted. Likely it wouldn't be long enough.

Harry didn't really have many plans to teach Draco Malfoy today. It was really about the flying, and getting to fly, and chasing each other around the pitch. He didn't much care if Malfoy learned a new trick or not - unlike the DA, he was really not in the business of teaching.

It was still fun, though. The wind through his hair, the feel of the wood under his fingers, the tautness of his face stretched into a perpetual grin.

They were some of the best flyers at Hogwarts, so it was a good idea they were doing this "Bright and Early" on a Sunday (which was to say, after Harry's morning run).

If they did this before supper, they'd draw a crowd.

Harry spun, doing a sloth roll, and then a reverse Immelman, enjoying the shocked look on Malfoy's face, a second before it turned into a hard, determined glare (that Harry felt on his back, his face long pointed in the other direction).

Malfoy might have roared, or bellowed (it was hard to hear over the banshee-like effect of the wind), but in seconds he was relying on his broom's pure speed to catch up.

Neither of them was really looking for the snitch. Not really.

Instead, this intricate ballet, this aerial maneuvering - that was the fun.

Malfoy seeing if he could come close enough to pull a few twigs from Harry's broom, and Harry trying to swat Malfoy with his broom, all while not falling off.

Hermione would hate watching this, so it was a good thing she was asleep in her bed.

Harry started upward, and Malfoy turned a spiral around him, showing off the increased maneuverability of his broom. It was a deft thing, cornered well, but Harry far preferred his speedy broom. When you saw the snitch, it was time to race.

Harry shot a bit more speed into his broom, by bending over it a bit, and then braked, sending himself parallel to the ground, in a rush of "nearly hit the safety lines."

Malfoy was right on Harry's heels, and Harry could feel the ebullience coming off both of them in waves.

"Harry James Potter!" was the sound Harry heard, and he repressed the urge to wince. "And Draco Malfoy!"

_Shite._

_Caught._

Harry and Draco exchanged chagrined grins, still way too high to hear effectively. They took slow circles downward, intent on enjoying their time in the air.

Hermione was there, on the ground, her hands on her hips. "Just what do you think you two are up to?"

"Training," Draco Malfoy said, in his usual lazy drawl. His stiffness on the broom, however, was far from usual. _They do have tells_, Harry thought, _just subtler ones._

"That didn't look like training to me!" Hermione hollered, "That looked like rubbing right up against the safety spells."

"The snitch does get up that close sometimes," Harry said, trying to smile a gormless smile.

"You two get off those brooms right now, and shower up. It's nearly the end of breakfast, and my mother always said teenage boys eat like three grown men." Hermione ordered.

"Yes'm." Harry said, already off his broom and moving towards the Gryffindor changing room. He didn't hear what Malfoy said to Hermione, and suspected it was better that way. If Malfoy wanted to be a git, Hermione had a ready spell for most occasions. Come to think of it, he should ask her to teach him some of those. Might come in handy the next time _the entire school_ takes a fancy for Harry Potter Rump.

*I continue to emphasize that Snape is preparing Harry for the front lines of a war. Conduct such as this is not acceptable for College Football, University of Maryland, we're looking at you.


	34. International Lady of Mystery

Harry Potter came back from his morning run sweaty and a bit chilled. It was growing colder, and soon he'd have to figure out whether it was worth becoming an icicle, or if he'd rather do stairs in the castle instead. Harry thought he preferred the stairs, but then felt a sudden qualm. Why would he want to do what was easy, rather than what was hard?

Mornings were peaceful things, even at the Gryffindor table - because most of the Gryffs were night owls. Harry heard a spirited debate on the Third Principle of Edwina Lovechild going on at the Ravenclaw table, but from this distance, it was like a babbling brook. They weren't really going at it anyway, it was just the fun of countering each other's arguments, truth be told. All for the glory of the mind!

Harry was rather glad he wasn't in Ravenclaw. It was rather early for all that, he thought.

Hermione was busy studying - not for Defense, but for Charms. Harry leaned over, "Do we have a test this week?"

"No, next. Still, if I get this right now, I won't be worrying about it the whole day." Hermione said crossly. Harry leaned back and grinned.

Down the table some, Ron and Lavender were flirting with food, which was fine, although Harry really didn't want to see it up close. Hermione always said Ron's manners were atrocious, and Harry figured they must be, because she certainly didn't complain about his! And Harry Potter hadn't been taught at all!

Neville was talking with some younger years (Harry thought Romilda might have been trying to flirt with him, but Neville wasn't at all interested).

Harry stood, casting a quick tempus. Halfway through breakfast. Well, he wanted to see what Snape's classroom was like. Even if it was bare, he could get started warming up. He didn't want anyone to think he was a slob, or a duffer. Particularly at defense.

Inside Snape's wide classroom (it was five times the size of his Potions Classroom, and that was already double-wide because of the cauldrons), there were a dozen doors, set up in a 2 dimensional array. It was odd, too, as they had hinges but no supports.

Magic was often odd that way.

Harry strode up to one, turning the handle; contrary to common expectation, the door did not turn with it. Instead, he heard a click, and he carefully swung it open. It looked as though the walls were invisible, but as Harry walked through the opening that the door had formerly been in, he kept his arm wide, so that his palm would hit the wall. The wall stubbornly refused to make contact - completely insensible.

Harry turned around, and closed the door. What else was he going to do, anyway?

He started stretching, using a mirror charm to practice defending against his own spells. This was predictable, for about the first minute. Spells flew at the same speed, which wasn't quite instantaneous, but was close enough. Then he started the mirror wiggle-waggling, and it was a good deal tougher. Harry fell into a rhythm, and the challenge was mostly putting up his own shield as quickly as possible. If you kept the accents the same, Harry found, you could clip off the word - make it faster, the gleaming translucent silver of his shield spell snapping up quicker and quicker.

He hadn't realized that anyone had entered, until he heard the sardonic clapping of Severus Snape. "Doubtless it took you ages to learn that petty trick." Harry wanted to boil at the insult - he hadn't had anyone to practice with (as usual, he'd never seen a mate at the Dursleys'), so he'd made do. Harry rather abruptly came to the conclusion that his rage was both well deserved, and better off being shown than stuffed deep in his belly. If looks could kill, Harry's might just have lit Snape _on fire_.

Snape pretended to take no notice of Harry's glare, as he continued, his voice rapping for attention, "Class, if you will please direct your attention to me, and not the show-off in the center of the room?"

"Why are there so many doors in my classroom?" Snape purred, his lanky form prowling between groups of students.

Hermione, because it was always Hermione, raised her hand.

"Does anyone, other than Miss Granger, wish to hazard a guess?" Snape said. Harry wondered, as he figured the Slytherins often had in Potions class, if Snape was going to call on Hermione at all.

Snape waved his wand instead. The students, who had clustered (perhaps wisely) in front of the doors, were hit by a wave of sound.

Screaming, to be precise.

Harry had to listen to it, for about five seconds, before he was convinced that the screaming emanated from the doors.

Snape waved his wand again, and the silence echoed through the air. "WHY are there so many doors in my classroom?" He shouted, and Snape _never_ shouted, not in class. Perhaps he was concerned that someone might be unable to hear his usual soft-spoken voice, with their ears ringing from the aftershocks of the screams.

"To go through them," Susan Bones said clearly.

Snape turned towards Susan, stalking around other bodies to get close to her. "And how would you do that?"

"I'm not sure. What would you advise, sir?" Susan asked, her chin slightly raised.

"I wouldn't. I would upbraid you for your lack of critical thinking." Snape hissed. "Anyone else?"

"Few doors my shoulder can't get me through." Goyle said. Harry's eyes flicked to him, and he was surprised to see such certainty on Greg Goyle's face.

"Clearly, you haven't met a steel door yet." Snape said, in that precise, acerbic way he had.

"Longbottom, how does a Gryffindor open the door?" Snape said, and Harry's hackles rose unbidden. It was one thing for Snape to pick on Harry, but Neville? Neville hadn't done anything wrong.

Neville smiled a gormless grin, "He doesn't, sir."

Snape's eyes flashed, a display of temper, before he said, in a quieter voice, "And why is that?"

"The Gryffindor way is through the wall, sir." Neville, grinning, attempted to demonstrate, shooting a Bombarda curse between two of the doors, and running through before he'd fully registered that the spell was rebounding on him. Harry, who'd been expecting that result, ably shielded Neville before the Bombarda could actually hit. _Unfortunately_, he'd used one of the shield spells Snape had taught him - one that liked to rebound spells, not absorb them.

The spell flew straight at Pansy Parkinson. Who, as calmly as could be, opened the door in front of her, and stepped straight through, closing the door smartly on the spell, which was absorbed. Pansy disappeared entirely from view.

"How did she accomplish that feat? In a room of locked doors?" Snape snarled, whipping his robes around him as he paced like a caged panther through the crowd.

"We weren't looking, sir. How should we know?" Goyle said, and Harry heard the actual response - 'sir, I know, but you're not going to like it. And you're going to like it less if I say it here, in front of _everyone_.'

It was just so _easy_ to think of Goyle as stupid. He really wasn't, but he knew how to hide his cleverness. Harry spent more than a brief moment wondering what would have happened if he'd gone to Hogwarts acting as stupid as Goyle did. Probably nothing good, Harry thought with chagrin. Besides, I doubt I could lie that well...

"Well, what are you waiting for? Open The Doors!" Snape announced, slashing his wand.

The screaming started again, reduced only in the slightest for the single door Pansy had entered. "Alohamora," Justin said, to astonished looks from everyone else, particularly when his door didn't open.

"A first year spell?" Hannah cried.

Harry sighed. This was going to be a long class.

For as long as Harry could remember, Hermione would always fix his glasses for him. It wasn't like he didn't... eventually... learn the spell (if he hadn't known before, he was dead certain that Snape would have forced learning it on him. Glasses were a favorite target of the lanky bastard; maybe something he'd first tested on James Potter, come to think...). It was just force of habit.

So Harry wasn't at all surprised when Hermione cast five different unlocking spells, and on the fifth, had the door open. She cast them silently too, so no one else could copy them. (Harry had only recognized the first two - alohamora, done silently so no one would laugh, and a third year unlocking charm he generally used on his own trunk).

Now, Hermione was leaning in, through the door. Harry could see Snape stalking nearer, and something like dread started to bubble up in his gut.

Harry's eyes, though, were still trained on Hermione, still unwilling to go _through_ the door, and about to start spelling to see what was past it. Draco Malfoy, his eyes trained on another door, backed towards Hermione, effectively flanking her rump. Then, Draco Malfoy 'stumbled', the spell he cast going awry - and Hermione Granger stumbled through the door.

Malfoy had _nudged her._

Harry had seen it.

Quick as greased lightning, Draco Malfoy slammed the door closed behind her.

From the other side, the entire room could hear the boom boom boom of Hermione throwing her shoulder against the door.

Harry took the cue from the blond Slytherin, casting a substantial variety of spells at the door to the right of Hermione's, moving closer until his back was cornering Malfoy's at a right angle. "She's going to get you back for that." Harry said.

"Worth it," Malfoy said, and moved away.

Harry had had another idea, and moved closer to his door, working on it. He put a seed in the door's lock, and then started showering it with water and light. "Trying to _grow_something, Potter?" Snape sneered. "I don't think that's quite how it works."

"Wait for it," Harry Potter growled, seeming, in his concentration, to not take note of who was speaking to him. Believe it or not, that was intentional. Harry _needed_ his concentration, and thinking about Snape was hardly the way to keep it. Slowly, inside the lock, a venomous tentacula started to sprout. And, just like a baby, it found the tumblers, and started to play. That wasn't good enough, though Harry could, with his ear by the lock, hear them clinking up and down.

His wand shot sun through the keyhole, and he could see the first, and then the second tentacle push out. _Just... Just a bit more_, Harry thought.

And then he heard the click, the sound of all the tumblers being right. Harry'd known how to do this the muggle way, of course, but that required a bobby pin, and he was hardly going to pull it out of a Magical's hair, now was he?

Quietly, he opened the door and entered, closing the door behind him.

It was a black room, and there were little pools of light. Hermione was there, as was Goyle, rubbing his shoulder, who grinned without reservation at Harry Potter, "This one was wood!"

Susan Bones was over three, and Draco Malfoy was up two, seeming to sulk even in the light shining down on him. _Doesn't want Hermione to humiliate him in front of everyone, I suspect._

Hermione muttered something unflattering about Goyle, and Harry made a mental note to make certain that Hermione worked more with the Huuge young man. It would be good for her, to realize that not everything was skin deep. Harry just wished Dudley was more than his excessively stuffed skin.

When the banner unfurled, I knew I had been spending too much time with Severus Snape. I could hear it. _In his voice_.

_It was disturbing, alright?_

"Now that you've gotten in, can you get out?  
Find your key.  
But beware, the egress is not the entrance."

To top it all off, Hermione Granger just started laughing. Like, belly on the floor, wriggling laughter (luckily, she wasn't on the floor). Everyone else in the room stared at her like she was somehow... off. Well, except Malfoy and Pansy, both of whom looked like they desperately wanted in on the joke, and didn't have a prayer in their cold dead hearts of giving up enough pride to _ask her_.

It was hilarious, well, if you're me, at least. Pride never stopped me from asking a question; wisdom had, once, I vaguely recalled. I think the reason I didn't recall it _better_ was that particular wisdom hadn't resurfaced for a while, and the Dursleys hit hard, and _didn't_ ask questions.

Oh, everyone except those two, me, and Gregory Goyle, apparently (he was farther away from Hermione than I was, so I didn't notice, until...): "Izzat why we've got bread?" Greg asked, his mouth full of bread.

Everyone looked to him (including a still-laughing Hermione Granger, who loved riddles just as much as she loved secrets), and saw behind him, there were loaves of bread. A quick count told me that it was exactly the number of people. Sans one, of course, because Greg had picked one up and was eating it.

"How do you get a key out of bread?" Parvati said, and I spent a good half minute trying to figure out how she got in, before noticing that two of her talon-like nails were scuffed.

Hermione, as always, has all the answers; so, we just had to wait until she stopped laughing. "There's a sucker born every minute." She gasped, and then started laughing again.

Draco Malfoy, of all people, frowned, asking in his usual sneer, "Don't most babies suckle? Even Muggles must drink somehow..."

This made Hermione laugh all the louder.

I was suddenly rather glad that Severus Snape, Potions Master and general dick, wasn't in the room. He'd have blown a fuse at Hermione's untoward laughter, I swear to all that is holy.

About a minute (and another hank of Greg's bread) later, Hermione said, "It's just like King Cake. Except instead of a coin, there's a key."

Draco Malfoy was nodding, "So we need to eat our way to the exit. How plebian."

Pansy Parkinson was in a snit, and she was followed by Parvati, "There is no way I am eating an entire loaf of bread. Just give me mine, and I'll _tear_ through it for the key."

Parvati gave Parkinson a grateful smile, saying, "That's the spirit!"

"Your funeral," Justin the Hufflepuff said, and everyone looked at him with a "why are you interrupting" look.

* * *

Severus Snape stood in a room that was conspicuously missing the more talented students. The last door had closed, and here stood the Ravenclaws, along with the less clever students, primarily Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Along with Crabbe, of course. It wasn't that he wasn't talented, he just preferred to hide it, and Goyle had already put his shoulder through one door. Wise of him, that. Professor Snape wouldn't have allowed the same trick a second time. "You have all failed the assignment." Snape said, "Your homework is to discover at least five ways through the doors. There will be no additional aid from your teachers, so do not clutter up my office hours."

The room seemed restive, particularly the Ravenclaws. They always hated getting poor marks - it was hardly his fault if they lacked creativity, was it? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a house elf wave a red and blue banner. _The banner's out._ ProfessorSnape was far more interested in those students with talent. If teaching Potions had taught him nothing else, it was that some students were completely hopeless.

Justin asked the question that had been on everyone's mind (except Harry's, apparently), "Goyle, why are you eating that loaf, in particular?"

Harry was suddenly glad that the Hufflepuff had used Goyle's last name. Justin was a part of the DA - but, here, there were three Ravenclaw girls that served under Malfoy in Snape's Squad of Horrible Ravenclaws with Too Many Rules.

Oh, that wasn't the actual name, but Harry liked his better. So there.

It would have been a very tricky thing to wangle out of, why a Hufflepuff was calling that brute of a Slytherin by his first name. Harry's head twinged a the "brute" that he'd used, even in his own head. Harry hadn't found anything to dislike about Greg Goyle - his manners were even neater than Ron's, though he still ate as much as three Potters.

Harry'd spent enough time being mistaken for a criminal - it hurt to casually label someone. Particularly now that he realized just how stupid those labels were.

Even Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, didn't deserve to be labeled. Not like that, at any rate.

Git, impossible blighter, general berk.

He deserved those labels, and was quite welcome to them. Harry had the sudden, split-vision thought - would Malfoy _agree_ that he deserved those labels? Harry nodded quietly, thinking, _Maybe so, even. He's a lot different this year..._

Goyle had finished chewing a large hank of bread, before he said another word. _Manners_. "First year, Snape pulled a sprig of buckwheat off my back. It had somehow stayed attached from my farm the whole way to Hogwarts." Goyle smirked, a look that was decidedly strange on his face. "You know Snape, couldn't resist making a crack about it," Goyle attempted to mimic Snape's voice, "Did you have a _pleasant_ roll in the hay on your way to Hogwarts?"

Everyone laughed at Snape's gruff voice attempting this politeness, and utterly failing to be pleasant about it.

Goyle grinned, "He remembers I like buckwheat!" Five years later, Harry thought. Could he say the same about McGonagall? Did she remember something small about each of her pupils? Maybe not...

Malfoy continued, "He really does like buckwheat. He's the only one I've ever seen eat the buckwheat griddlecakes." _Buckwheat griddlecakes? _Harry thought, a bit confused, _Our table never had..._

Goyle responded, "Had ta ask for them special, but the house elves will make anything if you're nice to them." _I'd like to try those, at some point. Better if I asked the house elves for my own, though, than to sit at Slytherin's own table!_

Parvati and Pansy were bonding, and Harry could see no good coming of that - they were both horrid gossips, and even if both did somehow learn to keep their mouths shut about Important Things, that just led to them coming up with even more fanciful ideas.

If it hadn't been their idea to start the rumor about Harry and Malfoy, Harry _really_ didn't want to be on their bad side. Somehow, they'd create a plausible rumor about him shacking up with Snape. Or Dumbledore. (Harry paused briefly to try and assess who was worse).

"Why aren't you eating yours?" Goyle asked, relatively genially, to Neville - the low boom of his voice jostling Harry out of contemplation.

"Oh, mine smells like tomato leaves. It's not for eating." Neville smiled, "Quite poisonous."

"Ruddy bastard wants to kill you?" Harry catcalled.

Neville shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. It figures, though, that he's read my monograph."

Draco Malfoy looked at Neville Longbottom askance, as if to say, _You've gone and done what?_

"A Monograph?" Hermione squealed. Yes, squealed. It hurt everyone's ears. "Neville, we are so proud of you!"

Harry, a bit more interested in what the monograph was than praising Neville, asked tentatively, "So what's it about? Your monograph?"

"Magical ways to defend against potato blight," Neville said firmly, "There's no recorded way to eliminate the disease, once it's in the soil, but I've made progress in reducing its affect on Magical Agriculture."

Hermione frowned, slightly, "Is there much Magical Agriculture? All the food seems like ... well, muggle food."

Malfoy snorted, sneering, "You didn't think we stole from the Muggles, did you, _Mmm_-?"

Harry had a rather good idea of what Draco Malfoy had been about to say, and he fingered his wand underneath his sleeve.

Neville cut in, before this could get any more violent, "If it's easier to grow with magic - and everything except apples is, then we're going to grow it with magic."

Ollie the Ravenclaw said, "But what's potato blight got to do with tomato leaves?"

Harry spoke up, cautiously, "Potato blight hits tomato plants too, leaves and stems and fruit."

Neville continued, "And it's a sight easier to experiment on tomatoes!"

Goyle asked again, "Why aren't you eating it, though?"

Neville smiled, "Tomato leaves are poisonous. The entire plant is, except for the fruit."

Parvati grinned, a wild uninhibited thing that Harry'd never seen on her face before. "Saffron! Delightful..."

Pansy asked, softly, "How do you know that's yours?"

Parvati had actually broken off a piece, and was eating the violently yellow colored bread. "It's my perfume. Something my grandmother always sends from India when I run out."

Sue giggled, "Snape's been smelling that on you for years, hasn't he?"

"Courtesy of his habit of standing right over your shoulder," Harry said, glad to have something to grouse about. It was phenomenally irritating, particularly when you were trying to stir _just so_.

Pansy was sniffing each loaf carefully, making it around halfway down before she picked up one and lightly tore through it, eating just a bit to get to the center.

Harry couldn't help it - he _had_ to know. "What does yours taste like?"

"Olives," Pansy said, shooting him a carefully triumphant, and quite mysterious, smile. _Yes, that was definitely all he was getting out of her. And yet, 'Why Olives' was echoing through his mind._

"What's yours?" Justin asked Susan Bones.

She smiled back at him, "Honeysuckle."

Neville paled, looking interested. "Oh, he did not -" He strode over.

"Yes, he _did_!" Sue said, stomping lightly on the floor with her foot. "Here try a bit."

Neville did, his eyes bulging with surprise. "That... I don't believe it!" He laughed.

Parvati sniffed one, her pert nose wrinkling, in a way that Harry wanted to laugh at. "That sly bastard!"

Harry looked over at her, but she didn't seem to need his prompting. Pansy smiled a smug smile, "What'd he do now?"

"Lav and I had gone to ask the Potions Master about a bonding agent for several immiscible agents for the shampoo we were working on. He just looked at us, and told us to get out." Parvati... smiled? "Ambergris! That sly bugger went ahead and solved the problem!"

Morag said primly, "He probably thinks it a neat reward for solving his puzzle."

Mandy and Morag quickly found their loaves - there weren't many left.

Harry Potter started sniffing over ones, having a bit of trouble figuring out what Snape might have left for him. Scratch that, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that there were a world of possibilities. And that would be for Normal Snape, or even Mad-As-Hell Snape. For Snape-Ignores-You? Harry didn't even have any clue.

Which was why he was just standing there, two loaves in hand, when Hermione and Draco found their loaves.

"Vanilla!" Hermione said, turning to Harry, "It smells just like me."

Beside her, Draco Malfoy sniffed a loaf - unlike Pansy, he made it seem natural. He _was_ that good in Potions, it might be second-nature by now. "Sandalwood..." Draco said, tapping his hand on his leg. _Was that the scent that Draco used? He did always smell woody, and it definitely wasn't pine._

Suddenly, Draco grinned, and it was a manic thing that didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were tense and angry. So, of course, Harry watched Draco snag Hermione's loaf. "This one's mine."

"You give that back, Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked, ready to do battle to get back her prize.

"Take your own!" Draco responded, throwing his loaf back at her.

"You colossal bigot!" Hermione said, her wand sliding into her hand.

"I can't help it if some of you inferiors are destined to be shorter than I shall be. It's all in the blood, you realize?" Draco Malfoy managed to drawl all of that, but Harry picked up on the deliberate deflection, the misdirection.

As Hermione kept chasing Draco around the room, Harry turned towards Justin, who was eating his loaf. "Which one did you get?"

Justin said plainly, "I got plain."

Harry frowned briefly, "Really?"

Justin snirked, "Yeah, when I got here, Snape asked me which side buttered my bread, and I just smiled at him and said, 'I never butter my bread.' He said back, 'then you'd better be better than the lot of them.'"

Harry's loaf, which was last, turned out to taste like soap. Harry ate it all with a grin on his face.

Snape wouldn't deliberately poison him, would he?

Harry was sick of arguments, even lighthearted ones, so he was out of the Room Past The Doors before Hermione and Draco had finished their jocular, albeit physical altercation. He'd caught a shrieked, "You bastard!" on his way out.

Snape was there, watching them, seeming to be a statue. The pupils were looking wideyed at the room they'd appeared in, as it was definitely not where they'd come from. This was a smoking den, rich and brown and rusty red. Snape, even in all black, looked perfectly at home here.

Harry turned toward the last two doors, it was taking them a while... Harry just hoped that they didn't come out looking freshly snogged.

Snape had intentionally switched the loaves, for Malfoy and Granger. That was intentional. And he'd done it in front of ... well, frankly a lot of people. Harry understood Goyle, and thought he could understand Pansy - Goyle was loyal more to Malfoy than to, well, anyone else. It wasn't much of a stretch to think Pansy the same; or if she wasn't, that it would take more than money to get her to betray a fellow Slytherin.

And the DA folks were likely to keep quiet - particularly Bones, who seemed the solid sort. Parvati would be more likely to giggle to Lav about it, rather than anything else...

But Mandy and Morag? They weren't part of the DA. They were part of Snape's Squad, but didn't seem to be especially loyal to Malfoy. _What does Snape know that I don't?_ Harry thought. _Are they ready to leave, or will they be on __our__ side?_ Harry suddenly realized that this was the sort of thing Snape had WARNED him about. His confounded curiosity... _Maybe I can figure this out without being such a Gryffindor about it._ Harry nearly grinned, relishing the challenge.

Malfoy and Granger exited at the same time, luckily not looking freshly snogged (Harry doubted Hermione would go for that, anyway).

Next, Harry took in the look in Malfoy's eye. He recognized that look - it was deep-seated rage, and Draco Malfoy was headed straight as an arrow towards Professor Snape.

_It was almost relieving, in a way,_ Harry thought, _to know that Snape could get under even a Slytherin's tough and warty hide. That it wasn't just Harry who could get spitting mad at him._

When Snape ordered them all out, Harry wanted to eavesdrop, wanted to know if Malfoy _could_ yell like a Gryffindor.

Sitting down to dinner, Harry's eyes were on two specific Slytherins (quite the trick when one was at the High Table). Malfoy looked contained... but Harry figured that was just rage simmering under the surface.

Quite quietly, Harry smirked. _DA should be fun today_, he thought wryly. _Or would Draco be stuck hunting them again?_

Hermione was working her books again, a parchment on one side of her, as she had her plate on the other. Harry craned his head over, and saw she was working on Flitwick's book. Not the charms book Snape had given them.

_I hope Malfoy can make DA today, _Harry thought, _He's supposed to teach, at some point, isn't he? Not that I mind Goyle's werewolf classes._

Snape was still studiously not looking at Table Gryffindor, and Harry Potter frowned at that. Exactly how much had Snape been watching him? Surely he couldn't be avoiding work because he was upset with Potter, could he?

Actually, Snape did sound about that petty. And McGonagall was up at the High Table too; arguably, it was her job to watch Table Gryffindor.

Quietly, Harry wished he was in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Nobody ever got 'corrected' there - and certainly didn't have two Heads competing over who got to correct (and take points) from the offender. Harry shook his head, _That'd never have worked, and I know it._

* * *

Harry Potter was early to DA, earlier than nearly everyone. So, of course, he walked in on an ongoing argument between Malfoy and Granger. Surprisingly, it wasn't about Malfoy's teasing conduct earlier. _I wish it was about that._ No, for once, Granger was complaining about Malfoy's choice of subject material, which was amptly obvious from the moment Harry walked in the door. The alembic and cauldron said Malfoy was doing Potions.

Harry wanted to groan. He wasn't good at potions, he wasn't even decent at potions.

But - Hermione was always the one saying that Potions were necessary, to become an Auror and such. Frowning, Harry strolled over to them, knowing that the argument was unlikely to be settled before he arrived. Still frowning, Harry asked, "Hermione, what's the problem? Aren't you always saying that we need Potions to be an Auror? Surely they wouldn't put a requirement just for the sake of it?"

Hermione frowned over at Harry, "That's exactly what's done with 'weeder out' courses in uni, Harry." Seeming to step back from the digression (possibly in response to Malfoy's frown, which threatened a miniature explosion of questions), she sighed, "It's not that I don't think it's important, Harry. It's that these shields seem more pertinent to battle!"

Draco Malfoy yawned, dramatically, "Just let me teach my class. This isn't your class. You get to teach your class without me looking over your shoulder telling you what you're doing wrong."

Harry advanced, "As much as I hate to agree with Malfoy, he's right. It's his class, let him teach it." Harry thought to himself, grimly, _If I thought there would be problems in the next week, I'd be singing a different tune._


	35. Too close to home

Harry wasn't nearly as excited for Draco's DA lesson as he could have been. He hated Potions.

It was exacting, it didn't lend itself to his brand of creativity, and he loathed them!

So when Malfoy conjured Potions Desks, and silver knives, Harry wished they were sparring with the knives. That, at least, would be something he'd get some use out of.

Slowly, people filed in, students taking their places at the desks. In its way, it was brilliant. It might even, if Draco was especially lucky, manage to kill Smith's whinging. We should be so lucky.

"I'm sure you're all wondering," Draco Malfoy began, with that infuriating smirk - that Harry, in a sudden flash of insight, realized concealed a well of nervousness. "Why you should be studying potions, when we're preparing for war."

There were mutterings all around, and a general sense of agreement, along with a sense of attentiveness.

"In this war, most of you will not be fighting Gryffindors. True?" Draco's eyebrow rose, as his eyes flicked over the class, making eye contact with those who looked the most truculent. Staring them down, where necessary. Harry wanted to take some notes, just on how Malfoy was teaching.

"A proper form of Slytherin treachery is poison." Draco Malfoy stated, baldly. Ron's jaw fell open at that. Hermione's too. Harry wasn't nearly as surprised, if only because he had actually considered rat poison at the Dursleys. "You need to know the symptoms. Recognize it before it happens, where you can. Do you really want to miss a battle because you're stuck vomiting until the last dregs of your meal are out of your system?"

"Sure, potions will heal you, and that's a valuable skill to know." Draco Malfoy said, "But that's something I could teach a quarter of this class. You all need to know poisons and antidotes." Draco Malfoy's grey eyes flashed, "Or did you think Hogwarts was safe?"

Harry caught the moment when the Gryffindors, as a collective whole, realized exactly what security holes the Weasley twins had exposed. That they'd exposed them in front of all and sundry. And that it was quite likely that some enterprising Slytherin had taken notes.

"Today, we will start in preschool." Draco Malfoy snapped, "I doubt most of you have been taught this." His grey eyes found Longbottom, "You especially, Longbottom. I've seen your knifework."

Draco Malfoy was exacting, Harry was soon to learn, as he learned how to find the right angles of the knives - and more importantly, how to strop and sharpen the knives themselves.

The damnedable thing of it was? Malfoy was right. He hadn't learned it - he even thought Hermione was picking up tricks.

There was a reason Malfoy was the best at Potions, apparently.

Harry hadn't realized just how busy his days had gotten, until he finally got a chance to relax. His potions work wasn't due for another three days, and for once, Flitwick and McGonagall had managed to not assign homework at the same time. Furthermore, Snape's homework was apparently confined to some sort of ruddy extra credit, that only people who hadn't gone through the doors had to do. Ron had gone on at length at the unfairness of having homework that Hermione and Harry didn't have. (Harry rather thought Ron was just upset that he had to do an entire 10 page essay On His Own).

Harry'd eaten dinner early, having half-skipped lunch to finish off a 'paper' on Divination. He didn't normally have an appetite like Dudley's...

Hermione had tried to glare him into eating brussel sprouts, but at the point where Harry had started to have his fight each other, Hermione had said that he was interrupting people trying to have a decent dinner. Hearing that, Harry had stood, bowed, and strode back to the common room, letting a soft smile cross his face after he was out of the Great Hall.

In the common room, Harry had a book open, although he was watching a falcon circle the tower. When the common room door slammed open, Harry looked over with concern. There was a third year there, as white as a sheet, with his hands shaking. Harry stood, half-approaching, and asked, "What's wrong."

"S..S...snape!" the third year said, quivering like a leaf.

Harry squatted down, so he was at eye level with the child (I'm extremely glad I'm no longer that size, he thought quietly). "What happened?" Harry said, wanting to pat the kid on the back, but realizing that the kid might react poorly.

"I... I was talking, to a friend. In private. She was just about to finish the one about the Hippogryf and the Wyrm, when Snape _countered_ my spell."

That, was unusual, Harry thought. Most of the time, people eliminated spell energy with Finite Incantem - it was like the rush of stillness after a thunderclap. Countering a spell required knowing exactly what it was, and sending "reverse sound waves" to cancel out the magic. It was both extremely advanced, and a really weird thing to do to a third year.

"Why did he do that?" Harry asked aloud.

"I don't know, but..." The boy fidgeted, suddenly. "He leaned into our, now canceled, privacy bubble, and asked, 'Where did you learn that spell?' " The boy seemed twitchy at this.

"What was the incantation to the spell?" Harry asked.

"Muffiliato." the boy said.

Harry frowned - that was one of Snape's personal spells, one that he'd learned this summer. Not one that Snape, or anyone, really, would teach a third year. "Where _did_ you learn that spell?"

"My third year defense book," the boy said. "Snape's going to want it, isn't he?"

Harry fought back a warm smile, looking serious instead, "Did you tell him you learned it from there?"

The boy shook his head emphatically. "I can't learn defense without my book."

Harry said, "We'll take care of this together. First, can I see your book?"

Shakily, the third year nodded, pulling out his dogeared book. Harry opened it, finding - in Snape's spiky, slanted hand, the notation that this book was Property of The Half Blood Prince. It was kind of relieving, in a way, to see that even Snape could trump up some reason to pretend to glory, when he was thirteen. Properly ridiculous, sure, but relieving.

"Do you need this particular copy, or will any one do?" Harry asked.

"To study? I'd work with any copy." The boy said, starting to twitch again. "But Snape wants to know where I learned the spell..."

Harry considered, for a silent moment, and then flashed a gleaming smile at the boy. It wasn't a nice smile. "You can tell him I taught you the spell, if he asks, alright?"

"You'd do that, for me?" the boy looked up in wonder.

"I'd do it for the book - provided I can get you a newer copy," Harry smiled, "And because you're a Gryffindor and they stick together." Now all Harry had to do was get Hermione to part with her old DADA textbook. Piece of cake.

_Suck on this, old man._ Harry thought. _If Snape wasn't going to talk with Harry, well, then he wasn't getting his damned book back. And he blasted well deserved to not see hide nor hair of it, for putting that poor third year through a near breakdown._

Harry half suspected that he could dance on the Gryffindor Table in a tutu during Breakfast, and Snape wouldn't so much as glance at him.

_Either way, today, I win._

With an incident like that, it was no surprise to Harry that he entered the RoR grinning broadly.

He was spoiling for a fight.

Not for pain, nor inflicting pain.

Just... one of those days when everything feels like it's clicked together right. And it looks amazing.

* * *

From the instant Draco caught sight of Potter's face, he was on his guard. The sheer level of joyous energy radiating from Potter ought to be illegal. Draco knew it would be harshly punished in the Slytherin Common Room - one should be elegant, composed, and contained.

Potter, at the moment, exemplified House Gryffindor at its finest.

Exactly the time when House Slytherin hated it the most, of course.

Slytherin was inclined towards a sneering chuckle at Gryffindorian antics at the best of times (which was when they were losing the Lions scads of points).

This, though? This level of energy was almost charismatic in its pull.

Well, Draco Malfoy drily informed it, in the confines of his own head, you picked the wrong wizard.

Draco sent a shimmering blue spell towards Harry's feet - who quickly shielded. Unfortunately, not quick enough. the shield shimmered into view around Potter AND the spell.

Then Draco did a dirty trick - he yanked the spell away from Harry - who was already trying to jump Straight Up (acrobatics might be his specialty on a broom, but...).

With the shield still extant, the spell started to zig and zag, flying from one side of the shimmering ball to the other.

Potter screamed when it touched him, as if Draco had used something simply dark. No, he'd used something that was more of his own invention - lust, love, heartbreak, bound into one charm. Hm, Draco thought, it wasn't supposed to cause screaming.

Draco dropped the spell, hoping that Potter would be crying, or seething, or anything other than that gloriously unfeigned true happiness.

_It was as if Potter didn't understand what he was doing-_

Potter's scream broke - it didn't cut off, but it changed into a full on belly laugh. "That was fantastic!" Harry laughed.

_fuck it all._

Even Granger and Weasley gave Potter odd looks as they came in. _Did the Terrible Trio truly not know every member's personal business?_

It wasn't as though Potter was unhittable in this sort of mood.

No, it was worse.

He was _unstoppable_.

You'd cast something on him, even Stoneskin, and he'd simply - keep going. It was infuriating, and what was worse, Draco was aware that it was Potter's mood that was causing this.

... and...

Potter was fighting too well. Disturbingly well.

Draco was going to have to fight below the belt. While Granger and Weasley were interacting with Potter, Draco scrawled a short message on two strips of parchment.

Then he grandstanded, striding forward and pushing both Granger and Weasley apart. In the process, he landed both of those strips inside their collars.

Were he looking behind himself, Draco might have noticed them both reading the notes (strategically cued in their hands), Granger's face transforming into a bloodthirsty grin, and Weasley's face looking confused, but still thinking.

"Well, well, well, what the hell are you on?" Draco Malfoy said with a heavy sneer in his voice.

Potter belted out a laugh, "Absolutely nothing at all!"

"You must be taking something," Draco said, sputtering out a laugh, "how else can you be laughing?"

The look Potter shot him was of blank incomprehension.

Draco looked insouciant. Relaxed, casual. It was a practiced look, and he knew he did it to perfection. "People are dying, out there. Screaming, even. Being tortured. And here you sit, doing nothing about it." Draco knew, without looking, that Granger and Weasley were looking at him, a bit warily.

Potter shook his head, in negation. "Not my problem," Harry shot back. "I'm ready. And I'm learning." Potter took a deep breath, almost as if he was meditating. He smiled a cocky smile, and grinned, "Besides, I can already whup your ass."

"That remains to be seen," Draco said, switching fluidly into battlestance.

Draco hadn't been holding back in practice. Holding back implies that you are trying to go easy on someone else. It was a calculated insult, and Draco thought they'd moved past that.

But Draco had placed some limits on his own behavior; so had the others, though probably with less critical reflection. Granger, in particular, with her impulse to be good in the eyes of authority figures, was most likely to have adopted their rules. Weasley seemed like the type to have taken 'fair fight' to mean a particular set of things, and that he'd simply explode if someone used the Wrong Thing. He too thought his rules were obvious.

Potter, though, it was clear, had fairness issues. That lay at the heart of his interactions with Snape, who was prone to picking on the Gryffindor. Any Gryffindor, really, but Potter bore more of Snape's tongue than Dean Thomas did, despite being at roughly the same skill level.

"What makes you so special?" Draco snarled, his wand busy casting and undoing Potter's spells.

Potter even took that with good grace. He raised an eyebrow, and smirked out, "Magic." And then Potter struck.

Draco actually managed to stop thinking about anything except sparring for about the next five minutes. Potter, when he was on, was really That Good. And Draco had never really liked being in pain, or being made to look like a fool.

About five minutes later, they were both breathing heavily, circling around each other. A detente, one easily shattered.

Draco wanted to sigh. He wanted to seethe, or bury his head in his hands. But, fuck, Potter in this type of mood was bloody dangerous.

He didn't have time for any of that.

Slytherins lived and died by their words, by subtle language of the hands or face.

But Draco? Draco was dealing with a Gryffindor.

Almost at an instant, Draco could feel the plan forming around him, like glass armor. Like a coiled snake, Draco struck without a thought.

Potter sent a Stupefy at him, Draco jumped to his side, letting his headlong momentum continue to carry him towards Potter.

Potter sent out an Expelliarmus, and Draco let him take the wand. _This plan doesn't require it anyway._

Potter's eyes briefly rested on Draco's wand, nestled in his hand. The next moment, Potter was directing a brilliant smile at Draco.

Who promptly punched Potter straight on the nose.

Potter went down onto his rump (Draco hadn't been running that fast), and laughed warmly.

_No. _Draco thought, and he dropped an elbow straight into Potter's solar plexus, as they both hit the ground in a tumble of limbs.

Potter was hitting Draco, he was pretty sure - Adrenalin was keeping him nicely numbed. But Draco had never been one for free hits, so he kept hitting Potter, until Potter finally howled, "Malfoy, what the fuck was that for?"

Draco stood, bowed, and said stiffly, "You weren't yourself. Did no one teach you that any emotion, in a fight, can be a weapon? If you do not wield it yourself, someone else will wield it against you."

"Is that what you did?" Potter's green eyes blinked up at him.

"No," Draco Malfoy said, glad that his voice was too steady, "You were wielding it _too well_."

Draco diverted his eyes to the other two Gryffindors. He found himself relaxing, minutely. Weasley had caught what Draco was doing. Draco wasn't about to be hexed senseless. "Weasley, would you be so kind as to get the Headmaster? I suddenly find myself with a few too many inconvenient memories."

It was easy to dismiss Ron Weasley, Harry thought. He was the playful, happy one of their trio. He wasn't terribly studious, and was obsessed with a doomed team in Quiddich.

But there were _times_.

And this was one of them.

Ron took the words right out of Harry's mouth, "I can never tell what he's thinking about, when he puts that formal stiff-face on."

Harry chuckled, saying, "I know what you mean. It hides everything. Is he upset? Hurt? Completely placid?"

Hermione said, "Not that last. He's relying on a ... basic, trained protocol."

Ron and Harry both looked at her.

"He's... better at communicating, normally. He doesn't generally sound like that, right?" Hermione said.

The boys nodded.

"And it's generally safe to assume that he's hunky-dory while playing Quiddich, isn't that so?"

The boys nodded.

"Then this is a learned behavior, designed to wall people out from whatever emotion he's feeling." Hermione said.

Ron asked, "Yeah, but why?"

Harry slowly found his voice, "Because it's _inconvenient_." In the moment, Harry was back at the Dursleys, suppressing his rage at Dudley having slammed his hand into the hot pan - and the ensuing sizzle. Worse, Vernon had come down looking for bacon.

Ron nodded slowly, "We've seen him angry, and joyous - but only when you'd expect that."

Hermione said slowly, "When his audience expected it."

Harry nodded, "He's playing to the crowd, and when he has a "Bad emotion" he just walls it off." Harry had entirely too much practice with that. But the Dursleys had wanted him silent - Malfoy switched to being the Perfect Pureblood Ponce.

Ron nodded, "Still doesn't mean we know what he means by it."

Hermione said, "You could just ask him, you know?"

Harry spoke up, suddenly vehement, "No, we _can't_."

Ron continued, "He's right, you know, he'll have been obliviated."

Hermione nodded, "Maybe next time?"

Harry looked at his watch, and said, "He'll be back soon. We'd better get practicing."

Surely enough five minutes later, Malfoy burst into the room, asking, "What did I miss?"

Severus Snape was woken out of a sound sleep with his left arm burning. With a curse, he rustled under his pillow, pulling out the death eater robes, and, taped under his bed, the Death Eater mask, silver-white and cold. He threw on the robes, concealing the mask until he was out of Hogwarts.

His mind scrambled for what this could be about, in particular, while he strode up the dungeon corridors. In his warm baritone, he sang:

_I walk a lonely road_

_It's the only one I've ever known._

_Don't know where it goes_

_But it's home to me and I walk alone._

For once, Snape's incautious feet fell like those of elephants, booming as he strode at full pace, faster than most trots, his death eater robes whirling behind him. _And Lucius wanted to know why my teaching robes were linen. Silk will always remind me of death, and never my own._

Snape heard the soft yelp of Fang as he walked past Hagrid's hut, heading towards the Forbidden Forest. In the night, caressed by the blue moonlight, Snape thought of it as a peculiar sort of home. Like the kind with a dozen knives in the kitchen, well sheathed in a knife block.

As soon as his feet passed the wards, he apparated away with a crack. Up in a tower, someone softly lit a candle.

Snape kept his mind repeating the song inside his head. It was a useful concentration-piece, a focus. Lucius was there, of course he was, it was his house, and Lucius wouldn't miss an audience for the sun and stars. Lucius was attended by his normal gaggle of followers - people too green to know his nature, for the most part. Lucius was like Lucifer, silvertongued and superficial. He'd just as soon throw someone to the wolves (werewolves in this case), as he would rescue them.

Severus Snape knew the meaning of charm, and even used it on occasion. But here, he preferred to contrast himself with Malfoy. His allies (never followers) knew him as a right devil - word the contract just right, and Snape would stick to it. The foolhardy Death Eaters died early, and the brash ones (like Bellatrix) thought they could stand by themselves. But the ones with an air of caution, of menace, of studious standoffishness - they stood with Snape.

The door to the Dark Lord's throne room opened, beckoning them inside.

* * *

Harry wakes up from a dream - straight into a vision.

_All around him, death eaters in masks kneel. The lowest ranks press their heads to the floor, while his Inner Circle kneel to one knee, as is their right. "What news do you bring me, my loyal followers?"_

Harry shakes himself out of the frame. He is _not_ Lord Dark Lord. This is _not him_.

Then comes panic. The sheer and utter terror that Riddle's gonna feel him, gonna turn around and strike him down - would that drive him crazy? harry's not sure. He thinks his brain goes white.

As his brain lifts out of the peafog, eh's suddenly getting an inspiration. If he doesn't want to be there, he can always hide in the mazy fog.

_What am I doing?_ Harry thinks, cross with himself. He goes back to being a cloud - except, better than that, a glass pane, over the sky.*

Harry was breathless, cold - but watching, listening. Like the man in the moon.

Harry heard Lucius Malfoy's low and steady drawl - which somehow came across as much more masculine than Draco's ever did, no matter that the man was an absolute poppinjay. "I have had limited success at subverting and swaying the Aurors," Lucius said, "But I have some promising news about the Magical Creatures department. Apparently they can track all the halfbreeds and werewolves."

"Increasing surveillance by the hated Ministry might turn more to our side," Lord Riddle said.

Lucius bowed, "I shall see it done."

Harry woke with a scream that seemed far louder in his head than aloud. He was relieved about that, Ron might have woken and wanted to know what was up.

Harry looked out the window. It was still dark in the fall falsedawn, though Harry swore he'd seen glints of rising sun... when he was there.

Had he really just inhabited the Dark Lord's Mind? body? Harry wasn't sure there was much difference.

He shook in his bed like a leaf

_I don't think he noticed me... But, if he did, how would I tell? Who would I tell?_

And that last question was the hard one.

This hadn't been a planning meeting, nothing of material interest.

Except for Harry's unwilling participation.

That, that was very noteworthy.

Harry stood, dressing in his jogger's pants before tossing on a heavy-duty robe and cloak.

He knew he was supposed to tell someone.

That wasn't the problem.

Harry didn't have problems with telling someone.

Not any more, at any rate.

The problem was a little simpler and a lot more difficult.

Harry pounded down the stairs of Gryffindor tower, still thinking.

_Who to tell?_

Snape wasn't talking to him (and might not have even _made it back_ yet - this seemed like something that _could_ wait, but... how was Harry to tell, truly?). If Harry knocked on his door (nevermind the time of night), he'd have it slammed in his face. Hell, even during office hours.

Harry had the sudden inspiration of having Hermione tell Snape.

That was both ridiculous and entirely un-Gryffindor.

Plus, Snape would _murder_ him.

Harry started to circle the castle, thinking in the dim light, taking the circuit slower so he didn't fall and break something. No one would be out for hours (excepting Snape returning, if he wasn't back already.)

Harry paused, running in place. _I don't want to see Snape returning home. I'd get detention just for existing. Again._

Harry continued thinking about whototell, as he turned around and started jogging back. _It's really too early to be awake._

Last year, there would have been no question - Harry'd just tell Dumbledore. But, this year, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore would order Snape to teach Harry Occulumency. That hadn't worked the first time, and Harry rather thought that a pissed-as-hell Snape was likely to be an extraordinarily poor teacher at the Mind Arts.

No, Harry couldn't tell Dumbledore.

He'd have to write a letter. And make two copies. He'd slide one letter under Snape's office door (no one but him would find it, as no one else entered his office, even for office hours). And he'd leave the other with Hermione, with explicit instructions to open it if he disappeared without notice.

By the time Harry, sweaty and bedraggled, had made it back to Gryffindor Tower, he was badly in need of a shower.

And so it was, that Ron woke to Harry, in a bathrobe, writing a letter. "Oi! Whatcha writing?" he asked.

"A letter" Harry responded, trying to think of how to explain this to Ron.

"To who?" Ron said.

"Hermione. Just as a failsafe." Harry said, missing the calculating look in Ron's eye.

Last night, Snape had caught that angry glare that Potter had thrown like a lance at him. He didn't react, though he recognized the look.

_Fuck off, old man._

It didn't take legimency to get that. Not when Severus Snape had worn it through most of his teenage years. His mouth had wanted to smirk, and he'd wanted to say to Potter, "Better get used to it, laddie."

Words and looks that would never cross his lips. Not so long as the war continued, at any rate. Not in public, _never_ in private. It was one thing to be a drill sargent to Potter - giving him one shard of understanding? of sympathy? Not in hell's darkest depths could he afford _that_.

Yesterday, that look had anger, and rejection - and it was blessedly cool. Like a fresh-forged decision that sat well on the teenager's mind.

Today, Severus Snape sat at the High table for breakfast. Minerva twittered and Filius responded with glee. But Snape's eyes scanned the Hufflepuff table slowly - out of the corner of his eye, he could see Potter.

_That_ look _never_ boded well.

That was the look of someone putting pieces together, a sort of inward looking disbelief, "How could I have been so stupid to have missed it?"

Snape recognized that look - not from James, or Lily. It was one he'd worn, the day before the incident under the Whomping Willow.

And the entitled brat was staring at him, with _that look_ on his face.

Potter had obviously put something together. Or only thought he had. Either way was ridiculous, and worthy of scorn. Snape wanted to snarl at Merlin and God above, "Now what?"

Because it was fucking obvious, if time had taught him nothing, that an adolescent with such a look on his face HAD TO dig deeper, had to _learn more_.

_Any_ knowledge of Snape was dangerous, and Snape truly believed that anything that Potter might put together, true or untrue, would have to be obliviated. Idly, he fingered his wand under the table, sipping coffee black as sin.

* * *

Harry had hurried to breakfast, knowing that Snape liked to be there early. harry wanted to have eyes on the man, to at least visually inspect him.

He needn't have bothered, truly.

Snape was there, looking right as rain.

Harry knew his eyes burned, as he glared at Snape. In truth, he knew it wasn't Snape's fault Harry had just _assumed_. Over and over again. No, it was Harry's own fault, but he couldn't very well glare at himself, now could he? Maybe he should just conjure a mirror. Staring at Snape this much couldn't be healthy.

At least, unlike staring at Malfoy, people were unlikely to conclude that Potter was in love with Snape. Oh, that would just take the cake, wouldn't it?

Harry let the slightest trace of a smile grace his lips, as he leaned backward.

Still, Harry dredged up summer memories... there had been at least seven different instances (he'd stopped counting, and was remembering them by other landmarks) when Snape had shown up, looking drawn. Thin.

Not skeletal, nothing that ... concerning.

At the time, Harry had chalked it up to Answering Tom's Summons.

If that wasn't the case...

_What the bleedin' hell had Snape been up to? And, for how long?_

Harry mentally shook himself. He did not have a blessed right to the answers to these questions. These were dangerous questions, that he really ought not to be asking, even inside his mind.

But inside his mind was safe, mostly speaking.

He _had_ learned his lesson.

He was _not_ going to ask these questions, not to anyone.

With a sigh, he leaned his head into his hands. Not asking just meant the questions were going to squirm around in his mind, restless and unceasing.

Harry hurried from breakfast to Defense, aware that Snape had probably found the letter Harry had given him.

Harry felt reasonably sure that if Snape was feeling spiteful (not to mention impractical) enough to just burn the damn thing, he'd do it in front of Harry. Yanno, to emphasize the futility of conversation with someone who isn't listening.

He hadn't wanted to have that happen in front of the rest of his year. Particularly the Slytherins, with his luck, someone (hopefully not Malfoy, his rumors tended to last longer than others. it was a loathsome gift) would decide that Harry was sending Snape a love letter, or something else equally ridiculous.

No one would guess the truth, so there was some cold comfort in that.

Of course, now that Harry had arrived at the seemingly empty Defense classroom (Snape was using red ink at his lectern), he was thinking better of his life decisions. Snape hadn't burnt the letter, no. Nor did he seem interested in discussing that third year and the mysterious potions book.

No.

Snape was simply grading. As if Harry wasn't even there.

Now, Harry Potter had grown up being ignored - no, that wasn't right. He'd grown up _wanting_ to be ignored, considering being ignored to be a good thing. Harry stood there, watching Snape - he let his eyes defocus, practicing his breathing and meditation. He was not going to be upset. Snape had every right to not pay attention to a student there early (though heaven help someone who arrived late to _Snape's_ class).

Pansy Parkinson arrived to class next, stalking in like a panther, her hips swaying softly. Her everything was soft, smooth - and dangerous. Like a poisoned rose.

Any opportunity for Snape to talk with Harry, as Harry and not Potter the Talented Defense Student (or Potter the Hopeless Fool, his mind sardonically supplied), had vanished.

Harry Potter started a quick kalisthenics routine, stretching and bouncing and throwing in a few kicks and punches for good measure.

"That looks well," Pansy said, "Care to teach?"

Harry looked up, not at Pansy, exactly, but at Snape, whose eyes were still marking the paper... except his pen had stopped. In the twenty minutes Harry'd watched him, the pen hadn't stopped once.

"You wouldn't want to learn," Harry said, lying through his teeth. "But, I suppose. Class is about to start, so maybe _ask me later._" Harry'd said the last three words in a tone that implied he meant their Defense Study sessions. He hoped she got the point, but knew that any point she got, other than Talk In the Middle of Defense Class, was likely to be okay.

"Can anyone tell me why one shouldn't use the Unforgivables?" Snape's eyes raked the class, settling on Susan Bones, who had her hand in the air.

"They're illegal, sir."

"Ah. The proper, _ministerial_, response." Snape sneered, "There are a thousand curses and hexes that are illegal, most of which you can find detailed in the Hogwarts library - even the darkest, should you manage a pass into the Restricted Section. It's ritual magic that the Ministry has most persecuted."

Snape drew a breath and continued, "Why are these three curses ones you should not rely on?"

_Rely. _It was a word that Harry Potter knew well, and he instantly knew what Snape was talking about. _It wasn't the illegality, but the difficulty of the spell. I wonder if anyone else figured it out?_

Hermione raised her hand, and Harry tuned her out, already knowing that she'd be saying these are the three that will send you to Azkaban, no questions asked.

The question went around the room, Neville and Seamus and Dean trying to answer it, along with Anthony.

Finally, it was Greg Goyle who raised his lumberous arm.

"Yes?" Snape asked brusquely, which was still a sight above the consideration afforded to Gryffindors.

"The Unforgivables... well, they're _hard_ to cast, sir." Goyle said.

And, because it was Greg Goyle, whom most people didn't know had any feel for magic at all, everyone laughed. Everyone except Harry and Hermione. _She knows what it's like to be bullied, and laughed at._

Soundlessly, Snape snarled at the class, teeth on only one side of his face flashing. Then he revealed spiders - great big hairy things. _Poor Ron._ Harry thought sympathetically. _Snape wouldn't be doing this to him if he'd known. It's one thing to want to grind my bones for bread but Ron's... just been persistently Ron._

"One at a time, you will approach the spider given to you. I warn you, these tarantulas are quite poisonous. Then you will cast all three of the Unforgivables on it. Since you think it's so funny that one of _mine_ finds them _hard_ to cast, I _defy_ you to do better."

Harry didn't need to think, not really, after that display of verbal venom. No one, if they knew what was good for them, would be actually casting those spells today. The non-Slytherins because they didn't want people thinking they were turning evil, and the Slytherins because, well, they didn't want to be known as That Bad.

And so it went, with the most interesting thing about the class being Snape's persistent goading. "Is it _hard_ for you, Mister Finnegan?" The pretended sympathy was worse than his normal acerbic humor.

Until Snape came to Hermione Granger, who he asked, "Miss Granger, would you like to demonstrate for the class?"

"I would not." Hermione Granger said, "Two of those spells are immoral, and I won't be a participant to degredation.'

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry.

_Oh, what the hell._ "I agree with Hermione. If you must watch me destroy the spider, I'll make use of other means." Harry felt his mouth curl into a broken sort of smile, "After all, if I can't crucio Bellatrix Lestrange, who murdered my Godfather in cold blood, who else can I kill?"

*Potter flies. I acknowledge that this is a silly metaphor for someone who is indoors. Potter thinks in outdoor terms (or in closet terms).

[a/n: I wrote up a chapter for the "in progress" version of this tale, then had to delete it completely. Give me a review for encouragement's sake? Good or bad, I don't care.]


	36. Surefootedness is next to Stubbornness

The day seemed to fly by. Before Harry knew it, he was plunging into the DA room. He looked around, and saw that Susan and Justin were setting up for some "games". Hufflepuffs knew the best ways to get people to learn, without really thinking they were learning.

Harry darted toward them. He nearly bowled Justin over (sliding to a stop just beforehand). "Need a favor."

Justin looked the slightest bit cross at Harry, "Is it important?"

"I need this class. It's time-critical but non-urgent." Harry said.

"Fine," Susan said, and at Justin's cross look, she put her hands on her hips, "You know we could get a better Stratego board for next week."

Justin just grinned at her, and said to Harry, "Alright, you win."

"You guys are _the best_." Harry said firmly, grinning that grin that Hermione had once shook her fist at, and declared, "Mister harry james potter, you do not get to use smiling to win all your arguments. Particularly not the ones on paper." She had been perfectly serious, alright, but it was hilarious at the same time.

"And who are we, chopped liver?" Neville said, coming in with Ron.

"Oh, no," harry said, struggling to keep a straight face. "You're pate."

No one except Justin got the joke, and it wasn't worth explaining, so Harry stood in reasonably awkward silence until the rest of the class had poured in.

Of course, Harry couldn't even walk to the front of the room (the Lecturer Zone) without Zach asking, "Why's he teaching today, wasn't it our turn?"

And, why yes, it was. Harry wanted to snarl that at the Supposed Leader of the DA. He restrained himself, gently cooling his heels. "Yes. So you can answer the question first, if you want."

"What question?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Why did Professor Snape lie to our class today?" Harry sent a steely gaze at the Hufflepuffs.

It was sweet, doughty Hannah who responded, sounding nearly timid (she wasn't. just softspoken. But the type who really could wrestle a tiger and win.) "He... he lied?" She sounded... disappointed.

And the thing of it was, Hufflepuffs turned heads and made people cry when they were disappointed.

Harry just really didn't want to answer that one.

"Of course he lied, you sweet little cherub you." Pansy Parkinson piped up, "That's one of the fundeamental principles of Slythinerin. Keep lying and no one will know what you're really up to."

Out of the tome he'd been reading, Theo's nearly-black eyes looked sharply up at Pansy, "Pretty sure that's just you, Pansy." Harry, from his vantage point, could see Goyle smirking, though Crabbe looked mostly clueless. "Besides, he's a teacher. Here to teach. If he told you he was actually a wardbreaker, would you _believe_ him?"

Harry ignored the last part of Theo's argument, and asked, in a soft voice that carried, "What teaching is he doing when he lies to us about the efficacy of spells?"

"The expedient kind," Theo Nott said, managing, somehow to sound arrogant in a completely different way than Malfoy ever did. And it was more irritating. "If he's got a full class to teach, and the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs can't learn the cruciatus curse... why teach it?" With Malfoy, you got the 'I'm better than you and I know it' treatment. With Nott, it was more 'I am the smartest person in the country' - there was no thought for you at all.

This might have made a good point if Ron hadn't gotten in the way out of sheer bloody habit. "Are you saying that Gryffindors can cast the Cruciatus?"

Theo Nott just nodded.

Neville, ever the peacemaker, spoke up - neatly throwing a grenade into the knifefight. "Maybe he just doesn't want a second Bellatrix Lestrange?"

From the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy laughed a wintry laugh without any humor, "Even the thought will bring me nightmares, Longbottom."

Hermione spoke up, speaking quietly, "Habits, once forged, shift rarely. And if you get in the mode of fighting with those particular emotional spells, you can't downshift. You can't fight someone you don't want to break."

Goyle scratched his head, saying, "Really, what have you lost? If you really wanted to torture someone, just use Tantallegra like a normal firstie."

The room laughed, and people eased up. Harry figured Hermione had the right of it, as usual.

Severus Snape woke _the_ next morning to a _deeply unamusing_ report on what the Defense Club had covered the day before.*

Leave it to Potter to expose Snape's deception.

The worst thing was? Snape couldn't even bring himself to be _properly_ furious with Potter. He, himself, was to blame - one didn't leave loose cannons alone without doing the mathematics. Potter was likely to dig, to try and figure out everything. Even when it wasn't _useful_, wasn't_ necessary_, wasn't _appropriate_.

Within himself, some quiet, disused portion of him disagreed with the "not necessary" aspect. Snape well knew why Potter was so blasted inquisitive. Why he wouldn't let things drop, come heaven with all his rage _and_ hell with all her fury. It was the same watchful part of himself that needed to understand _everyone_, student, teacher, mentor - _everyone_ he interacted with.

Snape didn't want to admit that Potter had _actually_ been helpful by unraveling something Severus Snape had said. Had taught.

Severus Snape had expected his Slytherins to catch the inconsistency, and perhaps to come to him for more guidance. He'd wanted to use it as a wedge, where possible. If his students could be convinced that he was looking out for them, they might trust him in a crisis. And listen to him in the midst of the schemes the Dark Lord's minions devised. Every single Death Eater was a schemer, so being embroiled in schemes was merely life. Still, there were schemes that had promise, and ones that would end with all the co-conspirators dead. A few schemes had ended with the co-conspirators taking each other's lives. Old magic was obscure, so those with ambition occasionally wound up crucified for their daring.

Snape girded himself in his standard teaching robes. Invisible to all but the keenest of eyes, his robes were a crafted illusion over stouter, more plebian robes. He wouldn't wear his good robes to _student brewing hour_. Besides, these had an element of practicality to them that he liked. Ordinary acids and bases tended to be repelled from their coating. It was, however, a tad unfortunate that they were bright orange in color (something about magical resonance that he hadn't cared to understand in more detail.), and had this very annoying tendency to make noise whenever you moved an arm. Hence the illusion.

Harry Potter wanted to bury his head in his hands. _How was it that someone else's glee could make him want to murder them?_

Draco Malfoy sniped back, "Crosswise, not lengthwise. Didn't your daddy ever teach you anything?"

Harry adjusted, muttering back, "no" in a dark voice that promised dark things.

Malfoy just smirked, and said, "New flobberworms. It won't work if they're diced."

Wait. Was that what was meant by diced? Crosswise and then lengthwise? Harry'd just kept cutting until they were the approximate size.

And on it went. Malfoy was just pretending to be a complete and utter asshole, smirking the whole damn way. That, actually, didn't help, Harry thought with a good deal of aggravation. Malfoy was just enjoying himself too much.

What had Harry done to deserve _this_?

Snape's dark visage paced alternately between Goyle and Crabbe, and Hermione and Neville. Through some strange alchemical conglomeration that Harry didn't understand in the slightest, Snape was managing to correct Goyle and Crabbe's potion without actually saying a word. Was he using sign language? Or simple, sheer intimidation. "No, don't add that now," translated to "I loom closer. I recede when it's actually time." Although this sounded hilarious, Harry didn't actually think it was what Snape was doing. It was more probable that Goyle and Crabbe had simple had _real_ remedial potions at some point.

Ow. Bringing up remedial potions brought up other things Harry didn't want to think about. Like headaches. Or the Pensieve Incident.

Harry Potter decided to give up, mostly, on doing the potion right. Malfoy was just going to correct him anyway, and Harry could follow instructions without really paying attention. That was an Important Life Skill (still, imagine telling that to Hermione!).

Harry started looking around the classroom, noting all the different colors of cauldrons. Surprisingly, Hermione and Malfoy's cauldrons looked pretty damn similar, even with Neville and Harry helping. Unfortunately, all of it was nearly indecipherable to him. It would have helped if he'd actually listened to the blackboard, but Malfoy and his fucking quips were being very distracting. Still, he was fairly certain that Seamus and Dean were two steps behind them, and somehow Parkinson's potion had chunks floating in it - surely that wasn't right? Harry'd have noticed chunks, right? Even if he was just chopping? Brown and Parvati were giggling, and their potion seemed four shades lighter than Hermione's. Still, Harry wondered if it might actually do something useful.

That was the moment Harry realized that he probably should know more about Potions. He had confidence that Snape could fix Brown's potion, and he wondered if Malfoy could do the same? He didn't think that Hermione would be able to, at least not without thinking about it for a while. Sure, she knew the interactions, but you really had to read, and analyze, with the assumption of failure, before you'd know how to fix all the various things students could get up to.

And, Harry should stop that thought right now, before he found himself sympathizing _with Snape, _bane of students everywhere. Or maybe that was just Gryffindors.

Harry woke earlier than normal, that Saturday. It was false dawn, the time when there was barely enough light to see - where even a candle would shoot your vision to shite. He woke, and he dressed, and he ran.

There would be an Order Meeting today.

The first Order Meeting he'd attended, he'd felt optimistic about.

The second one, he'd just felt a growing sense of rage.

Today, he was going to sit there, and let the folks in charge be in charge.

Clearly Dumbledore knew more than he often let on, and _don't forget_ Snape was working with him.

Harry was going to have to sit through another round of people arguing that Snape was a Death Eater, which had to be positively ridiculous, even if Harry had thought it likely as a first year. These were adults, they ought to know better. Snape couldn't be trusted. Well, if you didn't trust him, have done and _stop listening_. Better yet, _find better sources_.

Harry was not going to yell this at people. Not even quietly suggest it.

Which was why he was going to stumble into the Order Meeting as exhausted as he could possibly, possibly be.

Order Meetings weren't about planning for current flghts, apparently, they were about looking into the future, heading off problems that might come to pass.

Harry would work better if he was exhausted, so he was going to do triple his training regimen.

_And hope I don't drop off in the middle of the meeting. Outta ask Ron to kick me if that happens._

With a sweaty heave of a breath, Harry started his second lap around the castle. If a third didn't work, he'd start the stairs.

And maybe he could take a spin on the Pitch, assuming Slytherin wasn't using it. True, he wasn't playing for Gryffindor this year, but messing around during Slytherin practice would be a good way to take a bludger to the face. 'on accident.'

* * *

Harry wasn't early to the meeting this time, or at least not as early as he'd been. Snape was there, with his guard up - seriously, did he ever let his guard _down_? And, if he did, would it be a _good thing_? Vernon Dursley was a mostly decent bloke who minded his manners - except while drunk, or when dealing with his 'unwanted houseguest' Harry Potter.

With Snape? You could practically see that he carried stones. Or crosses, perhaps. If Snape let his guard down, there was a strong likelihood everything nearby would end up broken.

Harry knew Snape had anger issues, had always known, really. Of course, when Harry was a firstie, he'd thought that Snape shouting meant Snape was mad. He'd come to know otherwise, but that just meant that Snape put a lot of weight and discipline behind binding his anger tight, and releasing it slowly. Revenge is a dish best served cold - that sounded like a Slytherin motto, and not just for Snape.

Harry found a seat, discretely away from Snape (who was standing, more leaning against a shadowy corner - Snape was so tall it was conceivable being in normal chairs _hurt_.).

Moody arrived, full of piss and vinegar, doubt and paranoia. As usual, directed completely towards Severus Snape - who was _never_ one to turn away from a scrap. Had he ever done so? Even when he knew my mum...

There were some things Harry didn't want to think about, and that was one of them. So, he harshly curbed his thoughts, directing them back to the ongoing confrontation. Lupin had slunk in at some point, as had Neville and Fred and George.

No wands had been pulled, yet, but it was a close thing. Snape was currently walking Moody through a routine about shaking pursuit, and Moody had snapped back at him that "Yer gettin' too good at that, you natty bastard."

Snape had smirked back, "Did you want me good, or did you want me dead?"

"I think I might have preferred both, truth be told." Moody said, just as Dumbledore strode through the door.

Dumbledore looked faintly disapproving of Moody, but he often did that. What startled Harry was the sudden twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. "Alastor, what have we said about wishing death on our allies?"

"Don't do it in front of you, sir." Moody snarled, sitting down in a sprawl - a blatant mimickry of relaxation. Every muscle of his was tense.

And so the meeting started.

Neither Moody nor Snape did a damn thing through the first half of the meeting. They didn't move as much as a muscle. It wasn't quite a staring contest, their focus was clearly on other things.

Well, in so far as you really wanted to know the gossip of St. Otterly Catchpole, which Molly was relaying in full detail.

Nobody had told him the meetings were so damned boring. He wouldn't have pressed so hard to join if he'd known.

What was the point of sitting here, when you could be training?

Molly finally fell silent, and Snape stepped into the breech, taking up a position flanking Dumbledore as he began to talk. "There are stirrings, at the Ministry." Distantly, Harry felt Shacklebolt and Tonks tense - this was a deliberate besmirching of their capabilities, and no matter how deserved it was, it had to sting.

"The Dark Lord seeks power, as he always has. He turns towards the ministry, and as his gaze falls upon it, loyalty itself shakes." Snape's dark eyes raked the room, "Who are you loyal to? Beyond all else? Is it the people at this table?"

Harry could feel heads nodding. He, himself, didn't move.

This had the subtle feeling of a trap - and it was that which prepared him to watch what came next.

Snape moved, like a dark flash across the room, in seconds having Remus Lupin at wandpoint.

Remus gulped, smiling weakly.

Dumbledore made as if to speak, but Snape cut him off before he could start, "Who here would die for _the wolf_?"

Harry could feel the question hang on the air. "I would," Tonks said. "As would I," Vance said. Further voices piped up.

"Who here would die for him, if The Order said otherwise?" Snape spat.

"I would," Minerva McGonagall said firmly, "My duty's more than a member of the Order. He was my own, and lions protect their cubs even when grown."

It was a good answer, and Harry wanted to smile, but he didn't think Snape was done making his point.

"And there you have it, gentle ladies and men - the downfall of the Order." Snape was smug, bowing to them all.

"What do you mean?" Albus asked, managing to be gently chiding about it.

"If you cannot put loyalty to the Order above all else, above your family, above your friends, above your professorial duties - these are all weaknesses." Snape said, at last removing his wand from Remus' throat.

"Now, perhaps you will not, in the heat of the moment," Snape gestured, his robes whipping around him, "Doom the entire order simply because of one person."

Snape's voice got quiet, that peculiar talent of his that made people listen all the closer, "The ministry has no such battlefield cameraderie. To them, it's just a job. Compare that to their families. Is it so unlikely their loyalty might falter."

Hufflepuff to the max, Tonks said, "Yes, dammit! I know what's right, and though I might do stupid sometimes, I don't do wrong often."

Snape bowed, "You may be a fool, but you're an honest fool. Damned by your principles. Not everyone holds truth and justice as the highest virtues."

Molly said, "You mean Slytherins."

Snape said, "Or Ravenclaws, or even some Gryffindors. At any rate, it doesn't matter how many, all he needs is a handful. And there are many workers at the Ministry."

They actually didn't discuss how to prevent V from capturing the ministry. Instead, after Snape left, Harry was treated to a whole lot of stuffing, without any bear.

He left as disillusioned as he had entered, if not moreso.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were going flying. It had taken the gossip mongers three weeks to notice, but notice they had. So of course, the entire bloody school had to be there. Except Hermione Granger, who had declared that so long as it wasn't a game, she had better things to do.

Harry knew she'd cheer as hard as anyone, so he didn't worry too much.

And he had to smirk when he saw her bushy hair in the Gryffindor Common Room, which was tall enough that she could actually glance out and see the pitch. In between her readings, of course.

In a turn that no one had expected, Severus Snape had even shown up. It had been Ron who'd sputtered, "What are you doing here?"

"Crowd Control," had been the answer, said firmly. Harry half suspected Snape was covering a smile. It was a bonny good day for autumn turning to winter, and Harry was in his winter gear (complete with long underwear). Harry suspected Malfoy had better gear, actually, as even Malfoy was smiling brightly.

Harry leapt onto his broomstick, and there was nothing except wind, broom polish, and gravity. Malfoy was there, sure, in some distant part of everything. Harry kept track of Malfoy, of course he did. That was part of the job.

But this was _flying_, and if there was one place that Harry could go to _escape everything_, it was in the wind.

Nobody ever found the Snitch in the first ten minutes anyway.

By the time Harry had let out enough of his simmering frustrations to pay attention, he saw Malfoy studying him. Smirking, of course. "You done showing off, Potter?"

Harry nodded, responding, "Quite."

The crowd ceased to matter, hadn't mattered. Who was watching, who wasn't.

This was a contest of talent, of skill, of will.

In some ways, this was better than friendship.

It was competition.

Harry caught the snitch, but he knew, as Draco did, that Malfoy had managed to spurt out ahead of Harry _several times_ in the chase.

He was learning.

No, they were learning together. It was a competition, but a different one than a competitive game. This was a competitive chase, and they were on the same side. Outfoxing a Snitch with two brooms was considerably easier than one.

They started it all over again.

By the time Harry and Malfoy came down, they were both grinning, and darted off into the locker rooms before anyone could really talk with them. For the best, really. Harry never had thoughtful things to say after flying. He'd just laugh, and grin, and feel _free_.

There was never anything righter in the world than Harry Potter on a Broomstick.

* * *

When Draco Malfoy was done primping in the locker room, he strolled out insouciantly. As this was the way he always walked, it was no cause for concern. Not turning around, but in no hurry to leave, Malfoy asked, "What do you want, Potter?"

Leaning against the wall, Harry Potter mimicked a trademark Malfoy move, pushing off the wall with one leg. "I did come up with one thing you could help me with..."

Draco Malfoy turned around and raised an eyebrow, "Keep talking, don't leave me hanging." The or else was implied, and truly didn't need to be said.

"You know books, and I have quite recently discovered that I need to know them too."

"Potter, you have a resident bookworm." Malfoy said, though his tone said less hostility and more confusion. "Impossible hair, swotty attitude, and curves?"

"She doesn't know this as well as you do." Harry Potter countered.

"Stroke my ego some more, and you might get what you want." Malfoy snapped back sarcastically.

"You fix Goyle and Crabbe's mistakes. Hermione _prevents_ Neville's."

"So?" The word seemed to glitter in the air.

"I want to be able to do what you do." Harry Potter said, deciding the time for subtlety was _loong_ past. Attempting to out-subtle a Slytherin was probably a lost cause.

"And how, do you propose, I help you with that?" Malfoy asked, his tone sharpening with impatience.

"I want a booklist." Harry said, "I think I can get it myself if I read carefully enough."

"Five and a half years studying Potions, and you've never cracked the textbook?" Malfoy said, sounding truly flabbergasted.

"Nope. Had Hermione, didn't I?" Harry tried one of his goofier grins, then at a hostile look from Malfoy, canned it. Somewhat doubtfully, Harry said seriously, "I hope this won't take five years..."

"Fortunately for you, Mister Potter, I am somewhat better than your average dunderhead." Malfoy said, turning to glide away, "I'll see what I can do."

Harry Potter rose before the sun did, stretched lightly, bouncing on his toes, and then proceeded to stamp and hop around Hogwarts. It was nearly Christmas*, after all, and it had rained. Rain, when there were no active trees to sop it up, made moors into boggy, splashy, mucky messes.

It was Scotland after all.

Which meant he was a sopping, dripping, bedraggled mess by the time he was hauling himself up the stairs. At least Malfoy wasn't there to make fun of him. Or worse, Pansy. Pansy looked like she'd never _dream_ of letting herself get that messy, no matter what skullduggery she got up to.

"Potter," Pansy said, stepping out of a shadow. Because in Harry's entire life, nothing ever went to plan.

"What?" Harry said, greeting her with less indifference, and more 'I'm melting. Please don't take long. There's a shower when you're done.' Hardly the most dignified start of a conversation ever.

"Who's planning parties for the Gryffindors these days?" Pansy asked, and her show of casual indifference was a blessing. (Who could be entirely indifferent when mud was splattering the floor? Certainly no one who cared about image at all.)

Harry shrugged, "I dunno."

"Typical. You sure it's not Parvati or Brown?" Pansy said, her hands making treacherously for her hips.

"Pretty sure not Brown," Harry said, "I'd have heard about her."

Pansy snarled, "Well, someone needs to plan a party over Break."

Harry... almost nodded. It was true, there had always been _some_ sort of illicit party over break. Generally the Twins planned those...

Instead, Harry asked, "Why do you care?" It was a loaded question, so he tried to drown any latent hostility before it rose to the surface.

Pansy's smile was sharp, in her fox-shaped face. "Business, not pleasure."

Harry just looked at her. And waited.

Pansy stood there, seeing if she could out stare him. In less than a minute's time, she broke eye contact, throwing up her hands, whirling, stalking away, coming back. "You! I'm in the business of procuring party elements that are of the more clandestine sort."

Harry nodded, "You're trying to take over from the Weasleys?"

Pansy sniffed, "We never used them." She then smiled at Harry, and said, "But, essentially, yes. I do a good job, I get a good reputation. A good reputation can take you far."

Harry's smile was more rueful chagrin than anything else, "Slytherin ambition."

"Better believe it." Pansy said, her mouth curling into a truer smile.

"I'll see what I can do." Harry said, pushing his hands into his pockets. "We'll buy at least something."

Severus Snape would appear to have decided to have a _normal_ class for once.

He'd grouped them into quads, and then had ordered the quads to take on each other.

It was a decent way to think, to learn how to function in a group.

And Harry _hated it_.

He couldn't shake the well-founded suspicion that Snape was up-to-something.

As a result, half the time when Harry wasn't fighting a direct battle, he was jumping up, and shielding from other directions. Not that anyone was actually shooting at him. No, he just got to look like the Paranoid Arse that kept scaring everyone.

He had _known_ he was overdoing it. Telling himself that hadn't helped, of course.

Malfoy, who had been halfway across the room, as much as told him, with a sardonic, "Constant Vigilance, Potter?"

Harry simply bowed, slightly, at Malfoy, then turned away, marched off to a corner, and stood in it - watching out of course.

It was easier here, safer.

Harry couldn't escape the glint of amusement in Snape's eyes.

At least Harry was _pretty confident_ that Snape wasn't creating illusory creatures just to unnerve him.

Sitting in a corner, Harry could study everyone else. Hermione had a look to her, as if she was trying to discover the secret. Whenever she wasn't supposed to be fighting that is. Her wand moved in intricate patterns.

The Slytherins seemed warier than usual, too. Not like Harry, though. Harry was practically shielding without needing to think about it. Which, ordinarily, would be fine in DADA, but Harry very much did not want to get creative. Creative was entirely too interesting to certain third parties, and he really didn't want their attention BACK.

Harry just knew he was going to get horrible marks for this.

* * *

After Charms, Hermione pulled Harry aside. Her face was stern. "Harry, why is there an IOU from you for my third year defense book?"

"Err..." Harry said, admittedly not very suavely. Of course, stammering was quite difficult to attempt with any sort of grace, thank you very much. "Jake needed one?"

Hermione coughed, "And you just had to take my copy? Why did he need one anyway?"

Harry shifted uneasily, "You're the only person who keeps all their old textbooks, Hermione..." He hoped he didn't sound like he was whinging. Too much, anyway.

Hermione has her hands on her hips. That's never a good sign. "Why was it even necessary?"

Harry shook his head, "Long Story? Short Story?"

Hermione said, "Tell me the short one, and I'll tell you if I need the long." Which was exactly what Harry had intended, so one point to him.

"Snape wanted the book confiscated. So I confiscated it." Harry said, smirking.

Hermione looked at him with a look that said, _I know what you're really saying, Harry James Potter._ "You mean Snape wanted to confiscate the book."

Harry nodded, "And if he wants the book for himself, _a third year defense book_, he can _ask_ me for it."

Hermione _looked_ at Harry. "This story doesn't add up. At all. Why would a third year defense book be something that should be confiscated?"

Harry just said, "It was used. There were notes in the margins."

Hermione asked, simply, "Is it safe for you to have it, if it wasn't safe for Jake?"

Harry grinned, "Sure. Because I know better than to attempt strange spells at Hogwarts."

Hermione frowned, "If you say so. I can't say that I'm pleased that you're in some sort of pissing match with a Professor," Hermione sighed, "But I suppose it is Professor Snape, so... I believe the phrase 'he started it' applies."

Harry grinned gleefully, patting Hermione on the shoulder as he headed towards lunch, "too true, too true."

*By which Harry means they still haven't hung the trimmings up. I have not timeskipped, yet.

**Malfoy plays Quiddich. Malfoy does get muddy on occasion. Malfoy would simply ask why Harry didn't use the Quiddich showers before climbing over a hundred stairs.


	37. Brewing Class

Harry sat on top of the Astronomy tower, with the railing behind him and his feet dangling off the edge. He was supposed to be at the Defense Club meeting. Supposed to.

He wasn't.

The more he thought about it, there was something unnerving about being so paranoid earlier today, in class. When he'd been in the midst of it all, it had just seemed normal. Something to be dealt with.

Now, he was just trying to reassure himself with the simple, frail hope that Snape would have stopped anything _too_ unusual.

These were strange thoughts, strange feelings.

Harry had thought that paranoia was an acquired trait.

Well, it certainly was that, he thought with a snort.

He was just worried about _how_ he had acquired it.

Was it really his mind? His thoughts?

Or was Dark Lord Tom in his head again? Now not with visions, but with feelings? Feelings were squirrely thngs, Harry knew well. they had him screaming uselessly at the Dursleys, had him hugging Hermione for he knew not how long after Cedric died. He'd known, or at least thought he'd known, at the time, that those were HIS emotions.

Harry kicked his legs again, letting his shod-heels clank into the wall.

Harry knew he should be at Defense Club. Supporting Hermione, who was doing another damned competent job at teaching really boring material. Or it would be boring, if lives didn't depend on it. Harry'd always had buckets of focus for that. The wind whipped around his head, and he could almost hear, in it's light song, _Hero._

* * *

Potter never heard Snape open the door to the Astronomy Tower's roof. Nor did he hear Snape leave, shortly thereafter. Snape ghosted through Hogwarts, his quickly moving form raising no alarm, even fifty minutes before curfew, which was when sane students finished their studies on intercourse and more academic matters, and headed to their dormitories for the night.

Snape found Minerva's office door, and rapped upon it smartly. At least no one was up here to bother him - even the Gryffindors steered clear of Minerva unless the problem was dire.

"Come in," Minerva said, and actually smiled to see Severus Snape, who stepped inside and closed the door softly. "What herd of wild hippogryphs brings you to my door? Or is it rampaging centaurs setting fire to the entire Forbidden Forest?"

"Neither," Snape said, sounding cross. "You have another lost lion cub to deal with. Top of the Astronomy Tower."

Minerva sat up, and started to say, "Surely-"

Snape gave her a dark look, and she choked on her words.*

"Oh," Minerva said, standing up, "That'll be Potter, then, won't it?" She looked at Snape with crossed arms, leveling a considering glare at him, "It wasn't you, was it?"

"Of course not," Snape said, in a voice that nearly purred.

Harry was waffling, undecided, between Lord Tom having put these emotions in his head, and the even scarier and yet more reassuring bleedover effect.

Neither was good. Neither was something he wanted.

Why hadn't Occlumancy helped? Maybe he was just using it wrong?

_Couldn't_ ask Snape, and asking Dumbledore involved finding The Great Gray Wizard.*

"Mister Potter, do the clouds say rain?" Minerva McGonagall's voice struck through the wind like a battleaxe.

Harry startled, his hands gripping the bannister as he jumped a few inches into the air - and considering he was only a few inches from 'off the tower...' He planted his feet at his rump and swung himself up.

Minerva continued, as he spun to look at her, "My bones say rain, soon enough."

Harry nodded, remembering Mrs. Figg, the old catlady who loved when he came around, because he was a very good fetch-and-carry boy, even if the mints she tried to give him in payment were generally fused into something so huge it was impossible to eat. And who took all the mints, anyway? Anything was better than another minute with his relations.

"What brings you up to this admittedly cold and lonely spot?" Minerva asked.

Harry shrugged, "I like the wind, truth be told. And when I want to think, it's nice to be alone. I get distracted if there's too many people around - always something to think about, something to listen to."

Minerva nodded, slowly - like she was considering his words. Harry had always liked that about her. "And what were you thinking about?"

"Whether I've truly gone and cracked up now, or whether this is _His_ fault..." Harry said, off-handedly.

"That sounds like you have quite the problem, Mister Potter." Minerva said. "If you elaborated a bit, I might be able to shed some light on the matter."

"What do you know about having someone else in your head?" Harry asked, looking dead on at his teacher.

"My feline persona is something of a second skin. It thinks in similar, but not identical ways to my human mind."

"So you really do like catnip?" Harry asked, remembering something that the Twins had once joked about pranking McGonagall with.

Minerva McGonagall stomped her foot, twice, before hissing out, "Ooh! That man! He _promised_!"

"He didn't say anything," Harry said quietly, "The twins might have been planning something..."

"Relieving that they didn't," Minerva said with a soft smile, "_They'd_ have done it in the Great Hall and then no one would listen to a disciplined word I said."

They stood there, for a while, looking at each other. Harry was reminded of how being alone with Arabella Figg's cats had never felt quite so lonely as being in his cupboard. Cats had an innate quietness to them, and Minerva McGonagall had managed to capture some of that. This silence wasn't hostile, nor un-nerving. It was simply there, waiting to be broken.

"I was as bad as Moody in Defense class today," Harry said, throwing up his hands in a wild, circular gesture. He started to pace, as if by moving, he could control his words, channel them into comprehensibility.

"Did it continue through your other classes?" Minerva asked, "Only you seemed quite calm in my class."

Harry nodded, "No, it was pretty much just for that class."

Minerva took a breath, "I sincerely doubt this was You-know-who. I cannot think that whatever he does would coincide so neatly with your class schedules."

Harry abruptly wanted to bury his face in the tower's roof. He felt like an idiot.

Minerva continued, "If you think of it as a conscious effort on his part, then I must wonder what he could possibly gain from pushing you to such a reaction."

_Hey, she was right!_

Harry knew he was beaming, "Thanks! Professor, _thank_ you!" He must have sounded more fervent than many converts.

"Remember, Mister Potter, you do have resources." Minerva said, her stern voice softening only as she finally said, "Remember to _use_ them."

Harry did his best to look humble and chagrined. It wasn't difficult.

"Don't you have someplace to be right now, Mister Potter?" She asked, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"What-?" Harry blurted out.

"I'm old, Mister Potter, not deaf and not blind. When my entire common room empties out of a day, I do notice." Minerva said, "Now don't go telling me what you're doing, I loathe lies when they aren't absolutely necessary."

Harry just looked shocked at her.

"Oh, for the love of-" Minerva said, "The Head of Slytherin house may have taken it as a personal affront, the idea of someone learning outside his class. I, quite frankly, approve. Though I'll appreciate it greatly if you don't tell him that."

Harry had to bite back a smile.

"Speaking of the Slytherin Housemaster, Mister Potter, I hope you do have a plan for soothing his ruffled feathers..." Minerva McGonagall said, her somber voice quite taking any fun out of her off-handed, downplayed words.

"I do," Harry said, his nerves preventing any bit of a smile from leaking out.

Before he could say more, Minerva McGonagall said, "Not a word more, on my House."

The next day seemed to fly by in a whirl of exultation. It was _weird_, just being happy about being paranoid. It was, in fact, one of the odder emotional highs that Harry had ever experienced.

Yet, he was sure it was _his_, and that factor alone gave him the ability to savor it.

After his morning run, he'd managed to open Snape's defense book, and read a few jottings. The book itself wasn't important, at all, really. But Snape and his mum had written to each other in it, sometimes about school, sometimes about not-school academics - and sometimes about _people_, too. There were even little jottings about dreams, like what they wanted to be when they were older. What the electives were like - Harry wasn't at all surprised that they were taking Ancient runes and Arithmancy. Had that made it more awkward, when they'd finally stopped being friends? Or had his mum merely dropped all the classes?

Hermione would have been furious at such a thing. She'd have forced Lily Evans to keep on in the classes (and if needed, gotten Snape to drop them). Harry did see Hermione and Lily, this Lily he was reading the thoughts of, being fast friends.

He wasn't so sure about himself... but he had to think that someone as nice as 'able to put up with Severus Snape' had to be... They might have been friends.

It was weird to think of his mum as a student, in a way that it had never been to think about James Potter. Harry felt like he knew James Potter better as a kid at Hogwarts than as his father. Maybe he always would - the man had only a year as his father, and seven long and full years at Hogwarts.

Nobody'd ever talked about his mum.

This was really the closest he was getting to know her.

Harry idly wondered why Snape would tell him nothing but lies.

Odd, that it didn't hurt. Not being told things often frustrated Harry, he knew this about himself.

For once, he could actually accept that Snape had _some_ sort of reason.

_Maybe this was maturity?_ Harry's mouth crinkled in a queer sort of smirk. _If so, Harry thought maturity could bloody well go hang._

* * *

Moments before 'The Explosion' Harry was having quite a lovely day. Ron and he were at the Room first, and Harry was trying to figure out the pattern to Ron's spells. He _was_ mindful of Snape's warning not to try to learn them, but surely _this_ couldn't be bad, could it? And it was a _puzzle_, and Harry'd always been better at those than people realized. He knew he could have solved Snape's logic in his first year, but Hermione hadn't had a go yet, and she _liked_ puzzles.

Harry hated man-crafted puzzles, snobby little things. _Can you solve my riddle?_ Harry wanted to snarl back, _Don't be so high-handed! As if only a Vaunted Riddle Solver should be able to..._

Manmade puzzles were gates, designed to stop dummies.

Harry remembered what Dudley'd been like when he was frustrated, and he often was when there was a riddle on the screen.

Carrying books in her arms as usual, Hermione came in first, but Malfoy was on her heels - he only had a solitary roll of parchment. Harry didn't even have a moment to feel dread, before Malfoy strode straight up to him. "As requested," Malfoy said, pushing the parchment towards Harry's chest. Harry grabbed it and - too late - tried to hide it.

"What's that then, mate?" Ron asked.

Hermione was starting to glare at them, and Harry felt like that was the bigger problem. Still, Ron required an answer. "Payment for services rendered."

Malfoy, utter rotter bastard that he was, wouldn't leave it at that. In his most patented drawl, he said, "Potter asked me for some Potions help in return for Sunday flying lessons."

Harry didn't even see the flash of sparks in her hair, before Hermione exploded, "Harry James Potter! WHY are you asking HIM for Potions advice?" This screaming was accompanied by Hermione running straight at Harry, and starting to pummel him with the heels of her fists.

Behind her, of course, Malfoy just looked smug. _Oh._ Harry thought, _they've had an academic 'rivalry' for years, haven't they? Is this the first time Malfoy can truly, decisively, say he's won? I'll say he's not going to pass up on that!_

Still in the midst of being pounded on, Harry had the sudden urge to say something that Snape would say, just to take the wind out of Malfoy's ballooning ego. _That was not a good idea_, he told himself sternly.

"Why would you do that, Harry?" Hermione finally managed.

Harry shrugged, a bit uncomfortable, "You taught me that learning from different perspectives helps." For once, Harry knew he'd said something right, he could feel Hermione's face clearing of anger.

"How does Malfoy have a different perspective than me?" Hermione growled, her hands on her hips.

"You're perfection, Hermione," Harry said, only belatedly noting Ron's bewildered look at him. "Erm. In Potions class." Harry scratched his head, which he often did when he knew he was confusing everyone. "When you help Neville, you're always focused on him never getting things wrong." Harry straightened, "I've accepted that I'm likely to get things wrong in the class. It's an organizational headache, and I'm never the best at that." Harry's eyes found Draco Malfoy's, "When Malfoy works with Goyle and Crabbe, he works to their capabilities."

"He means I make sure they don't poison the classroom." Malfoy said, leaning casually against the wall. "I let them make their own mistakes."

Harry nodded, gently, "Figured I might be better at learning if I knew what NOT to do."

Ron grinned, "Anything's worth a shot, mate."

Snape was having another one of these blasted normal classes.

And Harry hated it. Not because it was boring, no.

Because he kept jumping at absolutely nothing.

No one would be fool enough to attempt an assassination with Snape in charge.

Not even Snape - there were witnesses.

Harry couldn't help waiting for the next problem. This one was too easy.

It was just the same groups, doing the same things as last class.

This was a pattern, and Harry distrusted patterns.

All the moreso as he was fairly certain Snape was smirking about Harry's 'case of the nerves.'

At least he hadn't been publically humiliated. There were apparent benefits to Snape's case of the silences. Huh, who'd have guessed?

Harry knew better than to push his luck with that, though. There were things that you could get away with, and things that you couldn't. Speaking of, Harry began to contemplate how to get out of being Draco Malfoy's lab partner. It was one thing for Malfoy to be spiteful to Harry (expected, really), but quite another if they were partners. There was absolutely no reason to do it then. Hrm. There normally wasn't a reason for Malfoy to do it in the first place...

Harry jumped, looked down at the ground sizzling between his feet. A spell had glanced off a shield and nearly scalded his feet.

Maybe there was a reason he was being so jumpy.

It was his group's turn, and he settled his heels in, letting Smith guide everyone. Not that Smith was any good at ordering people around - Harry was better and he didn't flatter himself to think he was at all good. Still, Harry was pretty confident that he could shield at least himself. Or spread a half-assed shield around everyone.

They lined up against Bones and Abbott and Parkinson and Goyle. On the surface, they looked like a reasonably weak team, though Bones was ferociously competent.

Smith's orders had them too disorganized. Harry should have been on point, or in the center of a circle, guiding. As it was, he was in the rear, and the attack was from the front. Magical power didn't do much to many spells, but it had a rather severe affect on how much a shield could take.

Their shield broke, and they all went flying... down onto what felt like, well, felt. Harry rolled to his feet, springing lightly to them out of a modified crouch. He couldn't say the same thing for his teammates. He had to restrain himself from volleying back a salvo. That wasn't the point of this exercise.

Discipline. Discipline. Discipline.

* * *

At midday meal, Harry got another letter from the Twins. It was a letter full of the laughter of three blokes trying out love potions on each other. Spiking them into things that really didn't need more intoxication, if you know what I mean. Apparently they'd all discovered that there were other uses for love potions, than getting the fairer sex to fall in love with them. Perhaps misuse might be a better word. Luckily, there were no details, as Harry didn't want to know about the twins getting closer than telepathy would suggest. They also had a few mail-order suggestions - as in ones that arrived by mail. They wanted Harry to vet them before they started real work on the promising ideas. Harry smiled. They never had liked research, had they?

Thursday, Harry spent the entire day trying to find time. Time that seemed in increasingly short supply. He had tests, and studies, and charms to finish.

He also needed to figure out a way to avoid being paired with Malfoy, not tomorrow, but the Potions after that. He was still scrambling as he walked into the Room of Requirement, finding Malfoy already there, aimlessly flipping a coin with his wand.

Malfoy. Harry found himself staring. Looking for weaknesses, as if that was something that Malfoy would let lie on the surface and not scrub off, or bury deep to the bone.

Without looking up, Malfoy drawls, "Potter, are you falling in love with me or something?" He finally looks up, his eyes sharp as icicles. "Only I thought we were here to fight?"

"Anytime," Harry says, his mouth starting to curl into an honest grin. Harry starts, of course, with an Expelliarmus. Malfoy blocks it with a shield, and they're off, swinging into the thick of a battle, filling the air with the sizzle of hexes.

Worse, when Hermione and Ron walk into the room, they walk nearly directly into Things You Don't Want to get Hit With. Harry and Malfoy break off, as Ron lets out a string of curses, and Hermione says, "Boys! You're supposed to wait until we all get here."

Malfoy puts on a pout, and said, "Harry started it."

Hermione looks back and forth at both of them, as if trying to verify the veracity of the assertion.

Five shakes and they're both busting up laughing at her.

Hermione has her hands on her hips, "What?"

"You didn't believe me!" Malfoy said, raising his head in a snit.

Then everyone burst out laughing, because the idea of Hermione believing Malfoy on faith was completely ridiculous.

* * *

Harry lay in his bed, flipping through Snape's DADA book. If Harry didn't know how to stop Malfoy, maybe he could focus on being too much of a pain to Snape? Well, Sn ape, he realized, would detest emotion.

Crikey! Harry thought in a sudden burst of excitement. That's going to work!

It took him nearly an hour to think through everything, and he'd still have things to do in the morning.

Switching Potions Partners was Never this fun!

It was Friday morning.

Severus Snape was doing his best to consume a suitable breakfast.

Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but notice Potter, his lean arms around Granger and Weasley, pulling them in close. They were _whispering_.

_Oh, joy,_ Snape thought with fullest sarcasm. _And right before Potions too. Whatever can they be up to?_ Snape's body seemed utterly convinced of implausible things - such as the Golden Trio deciding to _prank him. _He _didn't_ actually think they were that daft. However, something in how they were sitting, in the sidekicks' rapt attention to Potter, reminded him of _James_.

His body was quite content to be uneasy, running on fifteen-year-old heuristics, nevermind that the circumstances no longer existed.

He wasn't even tempted to eavesdrop. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and Snape sincerely doubted that he'd need to interfere. Want to? Oh, yes - it was as if his students had no concept of how much it drove him to distraction when people wasted classtime. Unlike the rest of the courses, it was actively dangerous to practice Potions without a teacher - he'd only granted dispensation to Malfoy so he wouldn't have to babysit Goyle and Crabbe himself.

No Slytherin was going to achieve a Troll on his Potions grade.

There were standards.

Leaving his breakfast significantly unfinished (Pomona sniffed at him as he passed), Snape headed down to his Potions classroom. As usual, he didn't actually go into the Potions classroom. No, he sat in the room across the hall, and used a few discrete charms to observe the goings-on. He didn't trust the little beasts to not blow themselves up if they weren't observed. Still, he'd found that animosities were far less distracting in class if they were expressed before class. Provided they weren't expressed in loss of eyes, hands or ears, all of which would interfere with Proper Potion Methods.*

Snape saw Potter entering the classroom, and he narrowed his eyes, eager to see just what calamity awaited his own entrance.** Potter did nothing, that Snape could see, other than occupying a different table than his two mates.

Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins entered as a group, with Draco Malfoy taking the seat beside Potter. Snape slightly frowned at this - he'd intended last class' switcharoo to punish Potter, but hadn't particularly planned on pairing him again with Malfoy. Perhaps Snape would have chosen Nott, whose temper was prodigious when roused. It was perhaps fortunate for all of Hogwarts that he was generally only angered over poorly done schoolwork, particularly in group projects.

The Ravenclaws entered as a group as well, busy talking about unicorn hairs and their effects on wandlore. Snape tuned them out - although quite a few Ravenclaws liked pranks, they wouldn't pull one unless they were certain of getting away scot free. It was the point, after all, in their minds, to not get caught - to demonstrate their intellectual superiority over others. They tended to pull fewer pranks as a result.

Ernie McMillan and Susan Bones strode into the room - Susan was a middling potioneer, but only wanted it to become an Auror like her aunt. Ernie was one of those strange Hufflepuffs who liked Potions purely because it was hard work.

That was the last of them, Snape thought, as he strode towards his classroom, flinging the doors open in a precisely timed move that had them clanging against the stone walls, and then snapping shut without breaking the doorframe. There had been, and there would be, times that Snape couldn't manage the finesse to shut and lock the door, either with magic or with his leaden limbs. Managing a flat out barge into unlocked, unlatched doors at a precise rhythm was far easier.***

Severus Snape swept through the classroom, towards the front, where he stood beside his desk and revealed the blackboard - prewritten as always. "We will be starting the Lazarus Potion today. Contrary to common belief, this potion does not actually allow one to return from the dead. Instead, it can rescue someone who has stopped breathing. It is likewise beneficial for those who have been infected by vampirism, though due to its expense and chronic activity, it is far from a cure."

Snape knew, every time he mentioned this potion, that the entire school would be rife with rumors of his own vampirism by the next day. It was at least a better theory than the truth. Or that he actually was a vampire; contrary to common belief, he did in fact harvest his own ingredients.

Granger asked her usual questions. Snape answered them, half the time with a glare. It never did to be too welcoming to Gryffindors, after all.

Snape strode around the classroom, keeping his eye on Granger and Longbottom. It had killed him to say that Longbottom was actually competent at brewing. So, of course, he hadn't said it. The OWL scores spoke for themselves. The boy wouldn't get his NEWTs if he didn't learn under a bit of pressure, but there was time enough for that, Snape hoped.

Snape was cognizant, as he'd been last class, of Malfoy doing his best to take the Mickey out of Potter. The lad was excelling at the art of insults, which was not, contrary to common belief, why Snape let his misbehavior slide. Snape _never_ let anything slide, for to do so in a school was to send the entire thing to damnation itself. Potter had put up with the insults last class with a demeanor that Snape couldn't help but admire.

It had been Snape's plan to ignore them again, and see if they'd both settle into a decent partnership.

Plans, as always, never survive contact with the enemy.

"Your father would be ashamed of you, you realize?" Draco Malfoy said.

"And why's that?" Potter responded.

Snape didn't exactly _intend_ to be listening, but there was something in Potter's tone that any trained teacher would pick up on.

"Both your parents dead, and you haven't done a jot to revenge them, have you now?" Draco Malfoy drawled. It was a low blow, indeed. Snape kept his eyes on Bones and her potion.

"What would _you_ know?" Harry Potter said, his voice breaking.

Snape's instincts had him whirling, wand trained.

To find Potter _embracing_ Malfoy, sobbing into his robes. "What would you know?" Potter said, voice muffled but still audible. Malfoy was awkwardly trying to hug Potter back, looking as if awkwardness were his birthright rather than snobbish noblesse oblige.

_Oh_. Snape thought, and felt parts of his body relaxing that he hadn't even noticed were tense. _So that's it, is it? _Snape's black eyes took quick count of the half-dozen students in class that weren't paying attention to their potions. _Somehow_, Potter had managed a stasis charm on his own, Snape noted quietly. Snape didn't doubt that Potter had shed tears in the past year - but doing it on your enemy's shoulder? Potter was not that unguarded. Snape privately doubted Potter had even cried on his friends' shoulders. And of course, he'd had to tell Granger to cool her heels, or she'd be charging in with a hex, in the _Potions classroom_.

Potter continued _playing it up_, starting to sob about never getting a hug from his Mum, about never having a Da come to a Quiddich game (which was _moronic_, as the only reason Lucius Malfoy was allowed to attend was because he was a School Governor). _Save us all from Gryffindors attempting to act - Potter was hamming it up, nearly as badly as Sirius Black would have._

This was an entirely ridiculous scheme (nevermind that Malfoy was buying it, until disabused of such notions), and would be graded accordingly.

Snape sent a wordless Silencio at Potter, which effectively left him dripping snot on Malfoy's expensive robes. "Enough," Snape growled, "If you cannot work together, you will work separately. I look forward to seeing you rise to the challenge of brewing potions meant for pairs, _alone_." Snape turned around, so he wasn't looking at either Malfoy or Potter, "That goes doubly for you, Potter."

Snape strode back to his desk, and started marking more potions homework. He didn't care if Potter spent the rest of the day silenced. The rest of the class' potions were ruined, and Snape snarled at them as he said, "Get out of my sight!"

Everyone rose as one to leave, and Snape said, in a grave tone, "Except you, Potter."

Harry Potter turned around and tried to give him an innocent, doe-eyed look. Snape, quite fortunately, was quite immune to that one due to overexposure in his bygone youth. "That will be three detentions, for the three potions you ruined today."

Potter, sensibly, did not protest, and left before Snape could assign him more.

Harry had hoped he'd have a bit of time on Friday to read more of his mum's writings. Apparently they'd had just as horrid a DADA teacher as Quirrell or Lockhart, as they were constantly exploring things that weren't anywhere near the chapters of the book.

At dinner, however, Hermione had announced that they were going to get their homework done tonight. Tomorrow was a Hogsmeade weekend, right? Harry hadn't particularly wanted to explain why he might not 'feel up to' going tomorrow, so he'd gone along - a bit mulishly, truth be told.

Halfway to curfew, Harry was trying to plot and read books at the same time. All he wanted was a little time away, cozy and safe up in his bed...

Hermione looked up (behind Harry), and paled. "Erm?" she managed.

_Someone_ tapped Harry on the shoulder (and said someone _ought_ to be very glad Harry was warned. With how jumpy he'd been recently, Harry might not have flinched from taking off someone's arm.)

Harry Potter turned around to see Draco Malfoy, clad in that ridiculous regalia Snape had come up with for his Squad. "Can I _help_ you?" Harry asked, his voice low but the malice clear. "It's just you're _interrupting_."

"A word, Potter." Draco Malfoy hissed, somehow, without a single 's'.

"Speak quickly, then" Harry said, leaning away from Malfoy and trying to look relaxed about it.

"In Private," Draco Malfoy said, and Harry could tell from his eyes that it would be a good idea to agree.

Harry stood up, apologized to his friends - Ron still wore a concerned look, but Hermione was so buried in her books that you'd have almost thought that she didn't even notice Harry's absence. Harry knew that wasn't the case.

Draco Malfoy led Harry deep into the stacks, into the Divination section of all places (though Harry suspected it was about as little used as History of Magic). "You'll be serving detention tomorrow. Report to the Great Hall at 9am."

Harry Potter sighed, feigning sorrow he didn't truly feel. He _wasn't_ going to be feeling alright until he'd seen Snape come _back_, after all. Better to be someplace where it was expected that he be pulling long faces. "And the other two?" Harry asked.

Draco Malfoy blinked, then his eyes cleared, "No, you misunderstand. This detention is for conspicuously making a fool of a Prefect in public - it's bad for discipline. Snape's detentions are his own and he'll tell you how to spend them."

"I..." Harry said, looking a bit more abashed then he truly felt, "I didn't _think_ of that."

Draco Malfoy said, "The way you're going, it's truly a wonder if you manage to think at all."

"We... next week, couldn't be partners. It wouldn't work..." Harry said.

"And was that any reason to land me square in a lecture from Snape on the perspicacity required of a Slytherin Prefect? I have better things to do on a Friday Night, I'll have you know." Draco Malfoy said, though Harry doubted Malfoy was actually snogging people in broomclosets, as he'd implied. "Besides, you could have asked me, and we could have come up with a solution together."

Harry toed the ground with his shoe. "I didn't think of that."

"_Obviously_," Malfoy snarled back. "You're supposed to _at least_ make use of partners."

Harry remembered Hermione telling him how she wanted to at least be asked before he started scheming. And, worse, how he hadn't just asked Snape about his Gryffindor Friend.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling the truth in his bones.

"Well, a detention will surely give you a little more time to repent, then." Malfoy said. "I did use that word right, didn't I?"

Harry nodded.

"If you'd have asked me, we could have easily fixed the situation by making you look the fool. Remember that." Malfoy said sternly, before gliding off.

* Reference to Catch-22, and the use of copper cables to improve marching discipline. Snape likes precisely that sort of dark humor.

**Snape doesn't think his entrance is overly dramatic.

***Yes, Snape finds his entrances inelegant. They are.


	38. Hagrid's Houseguests

Snape wasn't at breakfast on Saturday morning, not that Harry was surprised, by now. Still it set his nerves on edge, just the wondering. Would he come back? He seemed so... sapped, as if a leech was pulling the life force out of him... Harry tried to reassure himself that Snape knows what he's doing, but Harry had never been able to tell himself that Dumbledore knew what he was doing, let alone Snape.

True to form, if not reality, Draco Malfoy appeared at the Gryffindor table near the end of breakfast. A hush had fallen over the Gryffindor table, and rapidly spread to the others. It wasn't that people had stopped talking, but the volume had dropped to 30%, as everyone echoed their neighbors like sheep.

"Looking forward to your detention today, crybaby?" Draco Malfoy sneered.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, felt his nails cut into his palms. _He doesn't meant it. You know that. _Harry looked up at Draco Malfoy, and abruptly determined he wasn't going to be shorter in this encounter. Harry got slowly to his feet, a dark glower imprinted on his ruddy face. An idea broke through Harry's anger - this is an opportunity, don't waste it.

Draco Malfoy seemed to pale at that malevolent sparkle in Potter's eyes. He was too prideful to turn tail and run, simply standing there, expressionless except for the belated vestige of a sneer.

"Have you really shed no tears, Mister Malfoy?" Harry Potter said gravely, "Count yourself lucky, then, and fortunate to boot. Then again, your imprisoned father made it out of Azkaban, didn't he? Not everyone who leaves that place isn't mad, you know."

Harry saw the answering gleam in Draco Malfoy's face, because of course he knew.

"You'll find that your aunt, Bellatrix Black, has painted quite a target on her back. You may not be crying, yet."

Harry heard, almost as an undertone, Malfoy's comment, "No one would grieve _her_."

"It's war. Death follows like a sunny day after rain, giving the dying peace. It's the living that walk unquietly, in their _unseemly_ grief." Harry Potter's green eyes looked coldly on Malfoy's. "Have a care who you insult when you mock my tears." Harry's eyes sought, and found, Hannah Abbot's, her Hufflepuff blue eyes big and wet with tears.

By the time Harry had turned back, Malfoy had left, leaving a swelling silence in his wake.

Snape's detentions had been predictable, Harry thought. Obtain cauldron, clean cauldron. Rinse, wash, repeat. They were thoroughly mind-numbing, which might have driven Harry crazy if he was the type who had thoughts darting through his mind like silverfish. Instead, he did what he'd always done at the Dursleys, and sunk _into_ the work. It was a deeper level than thinking, an automated state where he could just keep going.

If the summons to the Great Hall, of all places, wasn't a clue that This One Was Different, Harry wasn't sure what would be.

As Harry walked into the Great Hall, he saw Draco Malfoy talking to a third year in Gryffindor colors. That was _Jake_, wasn't it? He also appeared to be here for detention, as he was nodding along to what Malfoy was saying.

Draco Malfoy looked up as the doors to the Great Hall closed behind Harry. "Potter, you're late."

"Three minutes early," Harry Potter volleyed back, "And you're a liar."

"It took you six years to come to that conclusion?" Malfoy smirked back, completely unphased. "Come along, our former Gamekeeper is holding what we'll need for this detention."

Before leaving, Malfoy turned around and looked at Jake, "Gryff three, do you have this until we get back?" Harry startled at the nickname, and then decided he _liked_ it. He was starting to dimly wonder what Malfoy would have been like, as a person, if the Gryffindors (well, Harry, really) hadn't as much as declared war on him from the moment he stepped into Hogwarts.

"Aye, aye, sir." Jake said, giving a cocky salute.

In stony silence, Draco put on a brutal pace, through the halls of Hogwarts, taking the stairs down three at a time. Harry enjoyed the speed, using his quick reflexes to keep his stability when the staircases started to move. Even Peeves couldn't stop their headlong progress.

As they burst through the doors to the outside, Malfoy send Potter a look, smirking, "Winded yet?"

Harry, grinning, said, "Not on your life!" He'd been running every morning - this was nothing but a bit of deft footwork. Harry was _good_ at footwork.

Halfway to Hagrid's, Malfoy stopped loping, squatting down with his hands on his knees. _Was he wheezing?_ Harry thought, _That's overdoing it. you may not train every morning like I do, but you're not that out of shape._

After a moment, Draco Malfoy stood and started walking. Without looking at Harry, he said, "Do you know how difficult it is to find six Gryffindors to give detention to, in just one day?"

Harry Potter asked, "What do you mean?"

Draco Malfoy says, "I only managed two - you and that third year." Draco Malfoy looked back at Potter, smirking a bit, "Guess who gets to make them up?"

Harry Potter looked more incredulous than anything, as if he didn't believe..., "You do? You couldn't have just found some Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs?"

Draco Malfoy said, "Who's in Snape's squad? That's right, Ravenclaws. And Hufflepuffs never do anything that deserves detention."

Harry Potter smirked, "And what happens in Slytherin stays in Slytherin."

Malfoy gave Potter a gentle clout to the head, "You're not supposed to know that, dumb-head."*

Harry laces his hands behind his head, "I'm smart enough to have figured it out." Harry did, actually, feel marginally better knowing that Malfoy was also doing detentions (for his inattention or lack of perspicacity, Harry supposed).

They walked in silence for a while, before reaching Hagrid's hut. Harry watched, curiously, as Draco Malfoy rapped smartly on Hagrid's door. When there was no response, Harry decided to have a go at Draco, "Knock harder or he might not hear you." he advised.

Draco Malfoy knocked hard enough that he woke Fang up. Seeing how Hagrid's door didn't knock, Draco had seconds to move out of the way of the door before getting flattened. Harry had his wand ready to help,just in case.

Draco dodged the door.

Draco didn't dodge the dog. He yelped, and was borne down to the muddy ground.

Hagrid, drawn by all the commotion, said, "He's friendly! Couldn't hurt a fly!"

Harry and Hagrid managed to pull Fang off Draco, who came up sputtering and so muddy he looked like an extremely bedragged cat in need of a warm towel.

Harry used a cleansing charm. He knew that this could _actually_ get a lot worse if Malfoy was left soaked and muddy for an extended period of time. For one, it was awfully undignified. For another, nobody actually liked rolling in the mud.

Not seeming to notice (or care) about the cleansing charm, Hagrid put a hand on both their shoulders, and guided them around to the ... pine trees? Yes, there were in fact eight pine trees, sitting cut - and _bundled!_ behind Hagrid's hut. Harry's quick (if not particularly stealthy), darting look to the side, showed that Malfoy wasn't surprised. _He'd done this intentionally, the slimy bugger! _Harry's face broke out into a delighted grin. He couldn't really bring himself to be too upset, not when he'd just delighted in pulling rug right out from under Malfoy's feet.

"All cut and ready to go!" Hagrid said, with a booming laugh.

"Take half," Malfoy said, and they levitated them to go back inside.

Malfoy waited in discrete silence until they were well away from Hagrid's hut, or the castle, or anyone who might be listening. "The foundation to a well-told lie, is generally truthful."

"Oh?" Harry asked, in a tone that said academic interest.

Malfoy turned to face Harry, slowing his pace as he kept moving toward the tower. "_Potter_," Draco Malfoy said like he was suppressing irratation (and, knowing him, he was). "You were crying yesterday."

"That was completely fake." Harry insisted.

"Are you sure about that?" Draco Malfoy said, continuing without enough of a pause for Harry to interject politely. "I hope you enjoy the detention." Malfoy managed to say that in such a soft tone, it was nearly softer than a whisper.

"You gave me a detention to what? _Cheer me up?_" Harry's hands were balling into fists, even though he really supposed he ought not to be surprised, and he wasn't upset so much as _angry_.

"Who knows? It might even work." Draco Malfoy said, smirking it up. Harry just knew that was a cover for unease and a soul-deep lack of confidence.

Harry wasn't unduly surprised when they levitated the trees into Hogwarts proper. It wasn't as if there weren't pine trees outside, after all. Where else were you going to put cut ones. When they turned towards the Great Hall, he'd just thought, "Well, that was where we started the detention."

It was only when Draco had waved open the doors, and Harry had seen the tremendous pile of tinsel, ornaments and candles, that he'd finally put it together.

They were decorating Christmas Trees.

In the Great Hall.

For Detention.

"What kind of detention is this?" Harry said, an incredulous grin on his face.

"The useful kind, apparently," Draco Malfoy said in a droll voice. "For the six years I've been here, Snape's always drawn the 'decorate the halls' straw."

Harry smirked, "What, they're afraid if they let him near children, he'll bite straight through all the Holiday cheer?"

"Quite," Draco Malfoy said, as they continued to set up the six trees. "I think he has an aesthetic hatred for the clashing Yuletide colors, honestly. He never shirks Halloween decorating."

Harry, levitating an ornament onto the nearest tree, smirked, "That does seem to fit his personality better, doesn't it?"

Malfoy nodded, helping Jake steady a trail of tinsel, as he ran circles around the nearest tree.

Harry frowned, deep in the safety of his mind. Halloween, for himself alone, had always seemed a bittersweet thing. Yes, people would celebrate him - but his mother had died for his sake, on that day. And that was very much not something worth celebrating. How much worse must it have been to be Severus Snape, bloody bastard? Then Harry shook his head, as something belatedly came to him: Hagrid made the pumpkins, and the House elves made the pumpkin juice. Snape conjured black bats, and black draperies, and all sorts of things appropriate for mourning.

Harry had been experimenting with creating a Hufflepuff tree (the badgers kept on trying to burrow _under_ the tree, which threatened to topple it), when Minerva McGonagall strode in. She sniffed, and said, "Is he shirking _again_?" To Harry, this seemed both unfair (no one else had to do the job, apparently), and obvious.

"I was in need of a detention, Professor," Jake said, smiling angelically. He pulled the expression off far better than Malfoy, who tended to look like a weasel in full blown psychotic _fit_.**

Harry looked up, answering evenly, "He's not even in the castle, now is he? Yet, he's found a prefect to cover for his part."

Prof. McGonagall's lips thinned to a line. "That will be 5 points for your exceptional knowledge of a professor's whereabouts, and 3 points off for being a busybody." Harry looked at her, thinking _that's exactly how Snape would have done._ Because he was watching closely, he saw the Professor's eyes flick to Malfoy. _Oh._ Harry thought.

Professor McGonagall walked off, shutting the door quietly behind her.

All three boys burst out in spontaneous laughter.

They worked, and Harry decorated as his whims decreed. He'd managed to make a decent Gryffindor tree, and the Ravenclaw one was easy, but the House of Badgers meant that their house animal kept on trying to bury itself under the tree. Harry wasn't going to be able to fix that, not without help.

And there was Malfoy, looking superior and smug. As he wasn't actually laughing, there wasn't much Harry could do about it.

The Snakes were easy, silvery things like patronuses, sparkly to boot, and the green of the tree offset them nicely. Harry wanted to add a bit of red venom dripping from fangs, but reluctantly concluded that would send some second year to test out the venom on some first year's frog. Also, it was a bit morbid.

The other two trees were still standing there, barren as ever, by the time he was done. Jake's ornaments had flown up to various parts of the Great Hall... and no one had done the bloody mistletoe.

"Time's up," Draco Malfoy said, and Jake gave a bow and left.

Leaving Harry standing there, with the knowledge that Malfoy was going to have to do the rest of this himself. "I owe you an apology."

"Then apologize." Draco Malfoy shot back, in a laconic voice that belied the flash of lightning in his eyes.

"How would you like your apology, gentle sir?" Harry said, with a cock-eyed grin.

"Humbly. and with a side of a favor, to be called in later."

"I apologize for making you look the fool, and I apologize again for not consulting you on the plan."

Draco Malfoy blinked, "That's the first time you've _ever_ apologized to me."

"First time I've ever had cause to, really." Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How many detentions more did you say you had?"

"Four." Draco Malfoy said, "Three now, since I've as good as served one already."

Harry nodded, grinned, and shot off like a bat out of hell. With the way his robes flapped, it was an apt comparison.

Up Up Up, to Gryffindor Tower!

Well, it wasn't the Heaviside layer, although it had certainly seemed that way his first year. Now he wasn't even winded, and he took some genuine pride at that.

Harry burst into the first floor, hoping to find _someone_ who wasn't busy.

The place was empty.

To the library, then! Harry thought, turning around and skidding down the stairs. With luck, Hermione!

Luck wasn't on his side, but Harry did find Luna, who looked up at him with a knowing smile, "How would you like to help with some mistletoe?" Harry asked in one long breath.

"I'd love to," Luna said, "Lead the way."

Draco Malfoy's face was equal parts nothing and everything. It was hilarious, in a way that you wouldn't laugh about.

Wrinkling her nose at Draco, she said simply, "I wish you'd invited me earlier." Luna walked into the Great Hall, and said, "Harry mentioned mistletoe?" Somehow, she'd come with a ceremonial curved knife, even.

Draco Malfoy mouthed, _how?_ at Potter, and then started to instruct Luna, who midway through said, "I think I can just talk with them."

_Harry_ had wanted to create a few pranks with Hermione.

_Luna_ was just off-kilter enough that her enchantment would be a prank in of itself.

Nobody knew, except for Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter, what they had walked into that night.

Draco and Harry looked like they were going to their deaths.

Harry's was a metaphorical one, of course.

Draco, on the other hand, knew that Snape did actually use human potion ingredients from time to time, and could recite the 107 uses for human blood. At least he wasn't a virgin (thank Pansy!), there were 348 uses for virgin blood.

At least Snape was unlikely to set Draco out to catch a virgin.

Letting Luna Lovegood near the mistletoe was a mistake.

Neither of them knew what she'd done - because she hadn't been casting spells. She'd simply talked at the mistletoe. A lot.

Harry would have sworn that the vine wrapped itself around her hand, at points in time.

Draco was less prone to fancy, but he knew how much Snape detested Luna Lovegood.

Slytherins, in general, were more evenly split. Some admired the daft witch, others hated her.

Theo Nott, in particular, was some curious mix of both. When Goyle ginned up the courage to ask why, Nott had replied, "She knows what she oughtn't."

Draco Malfoy had watched her carefully from that day, and had noticed what Nott meant. He knew, as most of the Ravenclaws still didn't, that Lovegood would have made a fine Slytherin. Ravenclaws didn't actually hold the intelligence to wade through what she was saying. Oddly, Potter of all people seemed most likely to understand her (although the other Oddball of the group, Neville Longbottom, appeared to have been explained into submission. His understanding only crosses the surface, but Luna doesn't seem upset about it, at all).

Draco Malfoy doesn't think Luna Lovegood ever had a true friend in her life, and doesn't think she particularly wants one. Nor, he thinks, contemplative as usual, does she particularly seem to be troubled by the lack.

You could see, if you knew what to look for, the flashes of jealousy on Slytherin faces. Splash in a pan, shades of quicksilver. But they were there. Some wore them looking at the Gryffindors, and others at the Hufflepuffs. Few wore them looking at the Ravenclaws - they were similar enough in temper to get along well enough outside of class.

Ordinarily.

With the Dark Lord on the rise, all friends were reconsidering Slytherin allies. And enough of House Ravenclaw wanted to stay true neutral.

Draco Malfoy could pick out the Slytherins who were most aligned with the Dark, and the Dark Lord in particular (His mother's house had been moderately aligned with the Dark Lord, and had brought the Strength of many Dark Houses to him.) He didn't know, and didn't particularly want to know, about the other houses.

He was a prefect, it was his job to keep his house in line. That meant playing with kid gloves at Hogwarts, and dissuading those with more _Gryffindor_ tendencies, because there was always one.

_No, _He thought with exasperation, _You will not impress the Dark Lord by murdering Harry Potter in his sleep. You have not even the first password, and you just told your plan to your entire year's cadre of boys._

There was always a fool, in every year.

Looking around, Draco hoped his year's wasn't him.

Harry had had a hard time getting to sleep Saturday night. It wasn't like he was playing in the Quiddich game the next day - it was Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw, and promised to be a bit boring. Neither of those teams liked to cheat, or use ruses, or whatever the Gryff/Slyth teams decided to name "bending the rules" today.

And when you got right down to it, Harry just liked being on a broom.

No, no - that wasn't it at all. He'd stared out the window, wondering where Snape was. What he was doing. If even Dumbledore didn't really know what he was doing... Anyone could screw up - and Slytherin plots might be more complicated, but that also meant it was easier to cock it up.*** It wasn't like Harry was waiting for Snape to return - he knew Snape wouldn't be back that day, and he knew he shouldn't worry over the rotten bastard.

Hadn't stopped him though.

He'd woken before the sun, as usual in the growing winter, for a run. He'd eaten, and now, with his broomstick, he felt... strangely sharp. He'd have said focused, if he was entering battle. This wasn't battle, and so the word changed, somehow. Either way, he was glad that the entire school hadn't shown up - mostly just Gryffindors and Slytherins, and Harry had to wonder if Malfoy and himself had finally managed to convince most of the school that there wouldn't be an all-out brawl in the sky.

Of course, that could be why the Slytherins and Gryffindors had shown up.

If there was a brawl in the sky, there quite well could be one in the stands, as well.

The thought brought a grin to Harry's face, and he launched himself into the air.

Let Malfoy find him already in the sky.

Malfoy followed moments later, out the door and into the sky - before even making it to the pitch. Harry had to wonder why they never did that during Quiddich.

Oh, right, you had to shake the other players' hands.

Be 'good sports.'

This was a LOT more fun! The icy wind buffeted them both, but Harry and Malfoy chased the three Snitches (apparently, unlike Quaffles, you could put as many Snitches in the air as possible, and they didn't interact). It made it a different sort of game, when you had three different targets.

Monday Morning.

Harry Potter had gone out for his morning run. Generally, it was a time to think, to improve his muscles, and work on his breathing capacity.

Not today.

Today, Harry had nerves, and the run was a good excuse to tucker himself out. Harry fully intended to keep running until he hit that high, the one that made it feel like every step was on the wind, like you could run the entire day long, and never need to worry about becoming tired.

And then Harry'd do another lap.

By the time Harry stumbled up about a thousand steps to Gryffindor Tower (for once, wishing he was a prefect, for they had a bathroom that was a LOT CLOSER to the ground...), he felt exhausted.

Well, wasn't that what breakfast was for?

A lukewarm shower - the cold was ice this time of year, and Harry was changed and nearly bounding down the stairs. Too tired to bound, really, it looked more like a controlled tumbledown the tricksy steps.

At least he didn't run into anyone.

Harry, for as much as he'd have liked to pretend otherwise, was worried. What if Snape didn't show up? Harry knew Snape was important, but he wasn't sure how highly the man rated in the eyes of Albus "I trust Severus" and Lord V. Harry, actually, wasn't sure if even Bellatrix rated a mention in Lord V's mind...

Harry was quite glad he wasn't sworn to a man such as that.*+*

Harry pushed open the door to the Great Hall. Steady, his gaze landed on the high table.

Snape sat at the end, a simple plate of light pancakes (no bacon) laid out before him. And black coffee of course.

Harry felt only relief. He had, contrary to general belief, learned from his unscheduled trip to the Ministry on the back of a thestral. Rescuing Snape was not only a fool's mission, it was liable to put Harry himself in grave danger. Not to mention anyone he managed to drag into the mess. Ron still wasn't quite the same.

Harry still wasn't completely sure he wouldn't try to help, if pushed to it. He meant to not push the red button, as the saying goes, but sooner or later, he had the curious feeling, the red button would be getting pushed.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, with Hermione bustling in just after (followed by Neville, who was peppering her with Herbology questions). Harry listened, and tried to take the notes in his head that he'd need to actually beat the Herbology test. It was easier this way, sitting back and listening.

Snape's class was... as close to a study hall as one could get, with the teacher still present in the room (marginally better than Binns, Snape may have looked like death itself, haggard and pale, but Binns was actually already dead, so he wouldn't be getting better). Harry finally had his answer, about why Snape had started having 'ordinary' classes. Snape had simply snapped at them to resume from last time, and then had gone to sprawl in a corner, on a hardbacked wooden chair. Harry knew why Snape had chosen the most uncomfortable chair.

It was the same reason Snape had them in his office: the sheer discomfort would keep him awake.

In detention, Snape had liked leaving Potter in his office, sitting there and dreaming about what horrors he'd have to chop, dice or slay.

And then there were three.

Three people mutely watching Luna Lovegood at suppertime.

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and Severus Snape.

Snape was, no surprise, better at it than Draco and Harry combined. Harry caught him stealing quick glances at her. Assessing glances.

Harry himself, found himself wondering how Snape knew about Lovegood's work on the mistletoe. She wouldn't have told him, not outright... That just wasn't Luna's way.

Maybe she'd just wished Snape a Happy Yule, and Snape was letting his paranoia run away with him.

Well, in that case, he was right to be paranoid, just this once. Well, maybe oftener than that - if Harry Potter had plans, Harry was willing to wager that other people did too.

Idly, he grabbed Hermione's textbook away from her (she'd been eating a bite of prime rib).

"Harry!" she said, through her mouthful of food (_Victory for Harry!_ He'd gotten Hermione to talk with her mouth full. Harry _knew_ how much she hated that - she'd told Ron often enough).

Harry, of course, was leaning back, far enough away that she couldn't get to the book without getting up and rounding half the table (they'd sat in the middle) to actually get the book back.

"Why don't I remember any of this?" Harry asked quietly. It was true. This was today's lesson - he had a vague recollection of it. But the time had seemed to dart by like silverfish scattering before - wait, what eats silverfish? Call it a Kingfisher - it sounded nice, even if it was wrong. Sometimes Luna had the right Idea, Harry considered, naming things willy-nilly like she often did.

Hermione got her book back after supper, and Harry continued to try the Charm that he was supposed to have learned in class. It didn't feel like it was any easier than a random spell he'd pick up out of any random book.

Harry really should try paying attention in class. Borrowing Hermione's notes was one thing, but not paying any attention at all? He didn't even have much of an excuse this time. A few weeks ago he'd been busy. Call it true, he'd been frantic. Once again, something had Come Up that required his full attention.

This wasn't that. This was something _wrong_.

* * *

Back in his dorm, back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry didn't want to play chess with Ron, or a game of Exploding Snap with Seamus (it didn't matter if anyone else were playing, Seamus had the devil's own luck with the game). He retreated up to his room, opening that old (surprisingly well-treated) Defense book. He was going to _study_.

Hours later, he looked up, and saw the moon streaming in the window.

Well, that was a relief! at least he could still study, if he put his mind to it.

Harry's Wednesday was Depressingly Ordinary. Which was to say, Snape was still tottering around, though he went to great pains to hide how weak he really was. Harry was quite sure that not even Snape's Slytherins had noticed. He felt confident that Malfoy would have been doing -something- if he'd noticed. Possibly just being more watchful, possibly setting Pansy up as a decent distraction (everyone in Hogwarts knew her Prima Donna Hysterics, and it had taken until this year for Harry to realize they were feigned. Typically Slytherin, that. She hid a fierce and burning ambition to be known as herself, as a person, behind a Girly-girl persona beyond compare. Parvati and Brown, who really were girly-girls, had no hope of comparing.)

Harry knew better than to do such things. He knew that if Snape had one shred of uncertainty in his iron-clad confidence, he'd have not left his room. It was easy enough to call in sick, and Snape never took sick days. Come to think of it, Harry wasn't sure he remembered any of the teachers taking sick days. He should ask the Nurse or Hagrid, they'd know about such things!

Harry had been heading out to Herbology - that was the only reason he was anywhere near the Defense classroom. Cormac was starting a fight with Bletchley. Harry could hear it, and realized it didn't matter who was going to actually start the fight. Snape was going to have to deal with it, and Snape could barely stand.

unless...

Entirely discarding the idea of getting to class on time, Harry dove for the fight, using two rapid-fire Silencios to minimize the damage. They hadn't used anything direly dark, or extremely destructive either.

Not yet.

Harry knew he'd done well, even when Cormac and Bletchley turned as one towards him, fixing heated glares on his person. Harry gulped.

"Well, Mister Potter, it would appear that you have some delusions of being a prefect. How many bludgers have you taken to the head, Potter?"

"None, sir," Harry said, "Although the amount of contact my gob's had with the ground does leave something to be desired."

"Detention, for your arrogance and hubris. Take another for casting spells outside of class." Snape snapped. When Snape got into such a mood, Harry had trouble figuring out if he was upset or not.

"As for this squabble," Snape said, turning to the Gryffindor, "You will be serving detention with Filch. I'm positive he will be delighted to have someone younger and more agile to clean the pipes."

Harry tried to choke back laughter. Cormac was easily twice the girth of Old Man Filch. And being sent into the sewer pipes... that was actually far worse than Snape had ever had even Harry do. Well, Harry tried to choke back laughter, instead it escaped as a snort.

"Did I say something unintentionally amusing, Potter?" Snape drawled out, his tone excessively droll.

"Never, sir." Harry responded.

"Three more detention for your cheek, Potter." Snape snarled. It was only after Snape had said that, that Harry realized he'd called Snape sir, at Hogwarts. Harry wanted to nod acknowledgment, that he understood what Snape was saying, but couldn't.

Following a hunch, Harry turned the opposite way than Cormac (who was bravely fleeing before Snape could take points and assign more detentions), and stood just beyond the corner, waiting for he-knew-not-what.

"And as for you, Bletchley," Snape's tone quieted, and Harry heard no more.

It was enough.

Harry Potter had raced through Thursday - paying attention this time as if the hounds of hell were breathing on his neck.

(Okay, more like if Snape was breathing down his neck. Harry figured Hounds of Hell probably just wanted a nice steaky).

Nerves shot through him, tingles and spikes of excitement that wanted to twist his stomach, but weren't quite that long.

Harry had trouble keeping still, and had to resort to opening up the box of Do Not Think About's.

Do Not Think About

Cedric

Sirius

Mum

Da

There were other people in that box, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, Dudley the doofus - but he never wanted to think about them again, if he could help it. They weren't sad memories, they were aggravating realities. And ones he'd probably be stuck dealing with, again, despite the fact that he would be an adult mid-summer.

He kept his mind on the sad, as if sweet strains of black music were wrapping around his heart.

It worked, somewhat.

He paid attention in class, somewhat.

By the end of class, he was darting outside, not to get a drink, or anything, really, other than to stretch his legs.

That was the thing about Do-Not-Think-About's - when you really didn't want to think about them, they vanished from his mind like wisps of fog before summer sunlight.

Harry would have thought that his friends might have worried about him - and maybe they did, but somehow he didn't think so. Hermione could care less, so long as his homework got done (and done right). She hated being bothered by him and Ron, but... was flattered when she was asked, as well. And Ron? Ron was currently wrapped around Lavender Brown.

Harry didn't need eyes to see that, he had his nose. Every night Ron came home reeking head to tail with her perfume.

He showed up to dinner like clockwork, and that was good enough for everyone, it seemed. Luna sent him a wave as he sat down, and Harry wondered what she was planning. She'd done something with the mistletoe, with the holly, with all the garlands she'd wrapped everywhere. Harry vaguely hoped it wasn't poisonous, whatever she'd done.

A single solitary owl winged over the Gryffindor table. Hedwig.

"Girl, what are you doing here?" Harry cooed, knowing that everyone was watching him, but not especially caring. Hedwig was his friend, and deserved a good scritch behind the ears. And a double-helping of bacon.

He gave her both of those before even looking at the parchment on her foot. It was gayly striped in red and green, which made Harry blink. At Hogwarts, where people wore House colors like muggle urchins wore gang colors, it was rare to see something this... flagrantly unaligned.

Harry opened the paper (glad that, for once, Ron was at the other end of the table - he'd have read over Harry's shoulder) - inside was an emoticon.

o^-^o  
-HH-

_The twins were here._

Harry stood and strode out of the Great Hall, leaving his entire dinner barely touched. He didn't need to look to know that the entire hall was watching his exit. He especially didn't need to look to know that Snape was watching his disappearance - Snape's eyes had a way of itching, when they were drilling into the back of your head.

_The twins were here, a day early. Surely they wouldn't want to sleep in Gryffindor? Were they just here to plot, and gallywag back to Hogsmeade? Sleep at Madame Rosmerta's?_

The twins, of all people, knew they needn't tell him where they were. He found the nearest alcove that he dared (he knew, without question, that someone would be following him, so he concentrated on giving them the slip by descending to the dungeons and resurfacing near the Front Coatroom, which made a great place for plotting mischief.

They were at Hagrid's Hut.

_That at least made sense._

Harry hadn't even thought to put on his invisibility cloak, that was how disturbed he was by the twins being there a day early.

_What else could go wrong?_ He thought in aggravation.

At least anyone looking at this from the castle proper would just conclude he was going to Hagrid's. Had Hagrid ever invited him for supper?

Maybe Ron would smuggle him out some food?

Probably not.

Hermione though... good, dependable Hermione...

Harry stood at the edge of the now denuded pumpkin patch, and looked around for The Twins. Nothing, until he felt two familiar hands on his two shoulders.

He nearly screamed.

"You didn't think we'd"

"Come here without being a"

"little secret about it?"

"Of course not," Harry said, "I just... didn't expect you to... touch me like that." Harry's face burned as he reviewed what he just said.

"And why wouldn't we?"

"When we're your"

"Secret weapon."

Harry couldn't help but grin at this. "Thank you so much for your help!"

"Anything for a chance -"

"-to prank Snape!"

Harry nodded back.

"Speaking of, your plan made it sound"

"Like you only wanted one of us..."

"We're twins"

"It's a package deal."

Harry's mouth dropped, "But. My cloak, it'll only fit one of you..." If that, Harry privately thought. They were long and lanky Weasleys.

"Figure it out"

"Marauder Junior."

Harry nodded, more absentmindedly, at the twins.

"You can wear the cloak over the top of both of you," Harry said, thinking as he talked, "But that still leaves your legs outside."

"Just need to cover them up, then, right?" One of the twins said, temporarily forgetting that finishing each other's sentences was the best way to confuse people as to which was who.

"Snape knows a dozen detection spells," Harry thought, considering, and then added, "At least."

The twins were smirking at him, delight in their eyes at watching him work.

"but most detection spells look for the heart or the mind." Harry said, "There's very few that will detect a set of legs."

"Better make sure no sharp-eyed Slytherin can just spot us."

"You know, with his eyes."

Harry nodded, "Camoflage! It's what the Muggles use." Harry whirled towards the twins, grinning, "Can you get me two pairs of pants? I'll do them up overnight."

The twins scrambled into Hagrid's hut, pulling out two duffels, and tossing Harry a pair each. "Thanks!" Harry said, "Now I just need to figure out how to get you into the class." Harry nodded, already thinking, taking three steps away, before he whirled back, "_Don't_ let anyone see you."

"Who do you take us for?"

"Amateurs?"

"We're professionals!" the twins disappeared in front of his eyes, with a wink apiece. It was much more comforting than it probably should have been.

It took until Harry was halfway back to the castle before he started to wonder if Hagrid knew he had houseguests.

*+*Ah, yes! Canon-irony!

***Also easier to correct, Harry. Oh, but you'd have had to try making one yourself to know that, wouldn't you? Slytherin schemes are more like nets - you can break a strand without catastrophe.

**Harry's not being fair here, and he's projecting hatred he no longer feels onto Malfoy.

*dumb-head sounds weird in english, but it's a standard german insult.


	39. Make it hurt

Harry went to Potions class with Hermione, which meant that he was three minutes early, rather than one. When they neared the classroom itself, he hurried forward, his heart in his mouth. Discretely, he dimmed the sconces, just a bit, his wand up his sleeve. He opened the classroom door with a bang, bowing to Hermione, "If it doth please milady to enter, the lessons will be commencing shortly."

"Harry! I am not your lady!" Hermione said, sounding scandalized.

Harry's eyes found the nearest male in the corridor (which turned out to be Theo Nott), "I told you her wit was equal to her beauty. She won't be won by words alone."

Theo, who seemed momentarily confunded to have been pulled into an argument between two Gryffindors, said dryly, "And deeds of derring-do will do better?"

Harry nodded back at him (his shoulders folded just slightly, so it was more of a very-short bow), "I intend to find out."

Hermione had her hands on her hips, as she sniffed at him. "Harry James Potter! It is time for class. Stop fooling around, and go learn."

Harry responded with another bow, before gesturing towards the door that he was still holding open, "Ladies first."

"Oh! Honestly!" Hermione said before entering, continuing with her screed inside, "I am perfectly capable of opening a door."

Harry entered after her, closing the door. As he turned to find where she was sitting, he could see Snape's blacker-than-black gaze on him. It looked impassive, which was a bad sign. Harry tried to not let his anxiety show.

As expected from a wary Snape, spells started to erupt off of his wand. Detection spells.

Harry wished he had time to study the spells Snape was using - even the order was a useful bit of knowledge. He needed a distraction - casting about, he saw Pansy Parkinson sitting beside Theo Nott.

_Perfect_.

He took the three required steps to put himself in Pansy Parkinson's personal space, and then grabbed her by the shoulders, roughly kissing her on the lips. It wasn't a good kiss, but then again, it wasn't meant to be. It was meant to be a distraction.

_Unfortunately_, it might have been slightly more of a distraction than Harry had bargained for. Pansy, for one, had her hands curled into fists, and was breathing roughly through flared nostrils. Theodore Tiberius Nott, beside her, was staring at Harry Potter like he thought the correct answer was _space alien_. And Harry wasn't exactly sure whether that was "Harry Potter is a space alien. finally confirmed" or "Harry has been replaced by a space alien. News at eleven."

Harry's eyes belatedly saw Snape, whose mouth had dropped open. _At least he'd stopped casting detection spells._

"Potter!" Snape barked, "Sit down. I will brook no distractions during class, is that understood?"

Harry, because everyone knew Harry Potter couldn't leave well enough alone, said, "But class hasn't started yet." He tried to sound sulky and not whiny.

Snape's eyes narrowed, and he said, quietly, "One of these days, Potter, your cheek is going to land you in a pit so deep you won't get out of it." Now, if that wasn't ominous, Harry didn't know the definition of the word. Harry would have preferred detention, even complete-waste-of-time detention, to talk like that. For one, he was going to be thinking about that the entire class. Snape knew it too.

_Bastard finally decided detentions weren't working, did he?_

As Harry got down to work on the skelegro potion, he was aware that Malfoy was glaring at him, heatedly. _Shite, what have I done now?_ Harry wondered, chopping as if he couldn't feel Malfoy's eyes burning holes into his back.

Hermione was helping Harry, and they were doing decently - Harry might not be the best at remembering the exact heats and twirls of the stirrer, but he had long experience chopping, and Malfoy's tips at DA were actually helpful. Of course, Malfoy had to be a decent teacher to have kept Crabbe and Goyle passing Potions. Snape was notoriously demanding, and he wouldn't let standards slip _that_ far.

Harry blinked, wondering suddenly why Goyle was so bad at Potions - he'd seemed to have trouble even in the DA, and Harry didn't think that was at all feigned. He should ask, sometime. Ron would tell him it wasn't any of his bleedin' business, but Harry would prefer to hear that from Goyle, if it was true.

About halfway through class, three spots of skelegro landed on Malfoy's hand and arm, eating through the fabric. He squealed like a girl.

Snape stood from his desk and strode over, right down the middle of the classroom. Doubtless, he wanted to ensure there wasn't any loose potion trying to tunnel to China.

As Malfoy passed Potter's desk, he smirked evilly, and then pretended to stumble. Instead, he splashed a Cheering Solution straight in Harry's face - and kept right on going, nearing the back of the classroom, before half-turning to observe his handiwork.

Harry, as expected, had a stupidly wide grin on his face, as he stepped away from his desk. He walked straight up to Snape (trying not to skip), and proceeded to hug Snape, his arms firmly trapping Snape's arms against Snape's sides. Snape's jaw had come practically unhinged - shock was written all over his face. Understandably, as they hadn't made a cheering solution for years, now.

At that exact moment, the twins tossed their candy in Snape's mouth, a perfect parabola from where they stood in the corner. Snape couldn't even have used his wand if he'd wanted to - Harry had his arms pinned to his sides.

Snape's mouth snapped closed - and then wouldn't open. His face started to turn a mottled red, as Harry belatedly released him, taking a sudden step back. Harry'd only just _now_realized that Snape was not going to take this well... at first. Maybe _at all_. And that would be the cheering solution wearing off.

_Do you think me incapable of assigning punishments simply because you have stolen my voice? _Snape's chalk wrote on the blackboard.

"No, sir." Harry said.

Snape gestured sharply, and the Twins lost the protection of the invisibility cloak.

_Do you think yourselves invulnerable to punishment, now that you are so-called businessmen? I shall not deem you respectable, whatever you say._

Harry wanted to laugh at that last comment - 'Respectable Men of Business' was the last thing _anyone_ would name the Twins.

"No, sir," the twins said, for once, speaking together.

Snape flung the door to the student Potions Cupboard open. _You two miscreants will enter and remain, in the cupboard. _Snape paused, and seemed to consider something, casting a quick diagnostic spell, _By all means, touch as much as you like._

_Malfoy, go to the infirmary. There is nothing to gawk at here._ Malfoy left, and a swipe of Snape's wandless hand erased the board.

Snape wrote: As_ for you, Potter_ His wanded hand opened the door to his office. _Step inside._

Harry did, and heard the door slam behind himself.

At last, he let himself start to think about whether this might work. Anxiety was poison, if you needed to do things, and do them right. Now that he'd tried, he was willing to ask the question: _Did it work?_

Harry forced himself to not take a gander around Snape's office.

It probably hadn't changed from the last time he'd looked, anyway.

He wasn't sure if Snape had the place warded to hell and back, or had decided he simply didn't care if Harry rearranged everything.

Harry knew better than to do that. If only because it would earn him another double detention - one to fix the mess and the other for making it.

His stomach twisted, as he eyed the hard wooden chair in front of Snape's desk. It was designed to make a child look repentant - if only so that the child would actually be allowed to leave. It was that uncomfortable. Penitence was easier when you were already feeling pain.

Harry didn't sit. He would, if Snape told him to, but at this moment -

Snape had the look of a man who paced, often, while thinking out plans and thoughts.

Harry started to pace, not to plan, but simply to express the abundance of energy that wanted to overflow from his veins. At least it wasn't magical energy - that would be the worst thing, to have _exploded Snape's office_.

He'd managed to be at least briefly optimistic, until a quick Tempus charm told him that Potions class was nearly over.

_How long was Snape planning on making me wait?_

Harry wasn't sure if he was merely being saved until Neville was done blowing up his potion (again), or if Snape was trying (possibly unsuccessfully) to let his temper cool off. That last was a disquieting thought. Harry'd worked hard for this plan, and if it hadn't even worked, Harry wasn't completely sure how he could explain himself.

Harry looked at the time again, and then again. Then he started seeing how quickly he could cast the spell, until the afterimage of one lingered onto the start of the next. It was almost distracting enough.

Except that class was now over.

Feeling an upwelling of dread from his stomach (it tasted like bile), Harry pressed his ear to the door.

"Sir, Harry's got to eat lunch, it's not healthy for him, and I think he skipped most of breakfast too." Hermione Granger said. _So typical, _Harry thought, almost letting himself grin at her constant worrying.

"Miss Granger, your arrogance astounds. Truly, to tell a Head of House for over a dozen years, that he needs to make certain magical children are well fed." Snape said, in a cold sort of way that Harry knew didn't bode well.

Hermione, as usual, tried to stammer out some sort of apology. Harry quickly backed away from the door, darting over to the wooden chair just as Snape entered the room.

It was that extra dose of panic that did it, Harry would think later. He actually managed to overtopple the chair - sideways, landing himself on his arm.

"Mister Potter!" Snape said, in a voice that held more reproach than alarm.

Harry scrambled to his feet and sat on the now wobbly chair. That did nothing to help the uncomfortableness, of course.

"Even Mister Longbottom knows how to sit a chair properly, most days." Snape said snidely.

Harry bit back any of a dozen retorts.

Snape strode up to Harry, from behind. "What part of 'I will not brook any disruption to my Potions class' was so difficult to understand?" He said this in such an unctuous voice that it made Harry's skin crawl.

"It was perfectly clear, sir." Harry said, sounding repentant, because he _was_ repentant.

"I hardly thought I needed to state that inviting the two-headed dragon of destruction that is the Weasley twins was out of bounds." Snape said, his tone deceptively mild.

"Yes, sir." Harry said, suppressing a smirk. _I'll just bet you didn't think of that one!_

"Potter, I didn't presume it possible for a child clad in red and gold to dupe one of my own house into being an unwitting accomplice." Snape said, and Harry wasn't quite sure if that sneer was for Draco or for Potter.

"Yes, sir." Harry said, his eyes still staring forward.

"And an assault on my personage and dignity?" Snape said, lifting an eyebrow. "What do you think the appropriate punishment is for all that, in the span of one single class?"

"How about a thank you?" Harry Potter said, at last turning his head to look up at Snape. Harry wasn't certain that the sweet had worked, but he figured if it hadn't, Snape wouldn't be listening - or talking to him.

"...And?" Snape said.

Harry Potter thought, and then started to think out loud, "The twins will have their own punishment, of course, but I take that as a week's worth of detentions - there's no guaranteeing that they haven't started another scheme in motion, and they'll be selling their products regardless... For the interruption itself, I think that's worth a month of detentions. For recruiting Draco Malfoy, I don't believe that deserves a punishment - for me at least. As for the 'assault on your personage and dignity'? I think that's another month of detentions, sir." Harry said, trying to be fair - or at least as fair as Snape would be.

"With that many detentions, you will develop quite a hand at ingredient preparation." Snape said, "You will, of course, serve these detentions with me."

It was at that point, that Snape's belly started to grumble. Harry caught Snape's irritated look - now cast at his own belly, for interrupting. "For now, let's eat!"

It looked as if by magic, but several dozen parchments moved invisibly out of the way on Snape's desk, and a full lunch of beer and cheese soup, sided by grilled cheese, and also half a steaming hot baguette, appeared in an instant.

Several moments later, another serving appeared, on Harry's side of the desk.

They both dove into their food; Harry couldn't help grinning up at Snape, who lowly muttered, 'of all the ridiculous, positively Gryffindor ways to apologize to do...'

_Hmph. And here I'd been thinking it was quite Slytherin._

Severus Snape had thoroughly had it with playing 'wait and see.'

Draco Malfoy, as expected, had spun a righteous tale in the Slytherin Common Room of having been hoodwinked by the Weasley Twins - through their agent Potter. It had gotten more elaborate in the telling, until it was Draco who had suggested the 'obvious in hindsight' ruse to get the Twins into the room. He wasn't stupid enough to claim Potter kissing Parkinson was his idea - he'd pinned that on Potter's obviously inferior (Gryffindor) improvisational skills.

At dinner, Draco Malfoy had behaved as if the sword of Damocles itself hung over his head.

Parkinson had glared at Potter, who continued to look baffled. Perhaps at some point _someone_ ought to clue him in? Depend on Draco to do it, Snape firmly decided.

It had been a relatively peaceful night, only two Slytherins had shown up at his door - the first, his head prefect, had a troublesome situation involving The Missing Hairbrush. It wasn't so much that any of the third year girls _cared_ about the hairbrush, but the mere thought that they had a _thief_ sleeping amongst them? They were behaving like chickens. Snape had pulled out a well-worn book of tales, and opened it to Bluebeard. "Read them this, before they go to bed. At the end, remind them that they _may_ be sleeping near a thief, but that is far more reassuring than sleeping beside a murderer." And Snape himself would check on the 'Nightmare Ward' before the morning light.*

* * *

Perched atop the high North Tower, Snape watched Potter round the castle. Some subtle part of him wanted to set a few traps - just to keep Potter wary, of course. Dumbledore would _never_ forgive Snape if he hurt the wretched boy. Well, in a permanent sort of way, at any rate. Non-permanent bruises could be passed off as training, or at worst, discipline. Snape knew all about these sorts of excuses, and could only hope he was wielding his power more wisely than those who came before him. Slughorn's example would certainly stand as case closed - Snape _knew_ he'd done better for his students than _that slug_. Snape still hadn't fixed Emma's scars. She preferred to pretend to be mad, rather than curl into herself as adults stared, and nosy Hufflepuff children hurried up to ask if it hurt. _Of course it hurt, every single day._

Snape was rather pleased that Potter hadn't attempted to apologize with _words_. Snape had heard his father say the same apologies so many times, he no longer had much truck with words. You either changed, or you didn't. Potter had clearly noticed Snape's disappearances (the wonder was that he hadn't belligerently barged in before now), but, instead of investigating, and making a ruddy, _obliviated_ nuisance of himself, he'd found a problem that he could solve - and neatly, at that.

Snape would have a five year supply of that sweet before the end of the week. Assuming the Weasleys were reasonable fellows, of course. He'd have it cached in a dozen different places around the castle and in the Forbidden Forest. If you were going to be prepared, you might as well prepare for more than one contingency.

* * *

It was still before breakfast, and Snape had already eaten about a day's worth of food. The twins had sung like canaries, and had been willing to donate a few more sweets to Order Business. Snape still didn't want them to know how many he wanted, but just six would have him shipshape this month.

Snape sat behind his desk in his office, waiting for Draco Malfoy to appear. As prefect, Draco would see that Snape wanted to see him - before he'd even left his bed. Snape had placed a small, green-and-silver flecked chit on a silver cord at the top of one of the four posts, right where Draco would see it.

He'd know why he'd been summoned, too, no doubt.

With a knock, Draco Malfoy entered, responding gracefully to Snape's belted and blaise "Enter." He sat gracefully, straight-backed on the hard wooden chair in front of Snape's desk. Snape's chair behind the desk looked, to all appearances, like it was leatherbound and stuffed. That was a careful illusion, of course. Snape liked his seat firm as the students sat. He wasn't a man for relaxation, even in his own office.

"Was that fiasco in my Potions class your idea?" Snape asked, as he laced his hands together, leaning forward above them.

"No, sir," Draco Malfoy said, just short of snorting, "No plan of mine would involve the Weasley Twins. There is simply no way that I could guarantee that they would do as told." That response told Snape more than Draco undoubtedly thought it did. Malfoy was on one level or another jealous of the Twins' ability at stealthy reconnaissance, and would have used them in a heartbeat if they could only be trusted - and had even considered ways to bind them to himself. That was futile, as Snape well knew, though he'd long had a quiet rapprochement with the Twins. They didn't act up in Potions Class (which would be deuced dangerous, even if they weren't touching the cauldrons), and he didn't demolish their irregularly occupied potions lab. The scent alone had told him where it was, from the first day.

"Potter's then." Snape said, after letting Malfoy squirm long enough.

"Yes, sir, though I've said loud and long that it was the Twin's idea and fault." Draco Malfoy reiterated.

"You'll deal with Potter in your own time, no doubt." Snape said, the very picture of confidence.

"Of course, sir. Perhaps sooner, since he had the clueless clumsiness to kiss my former betrothed."

"Don't disgrace your House with fighting in the halls, no matter who is the cause." Snape cautioned.

Draco nodded. Time would only tell whether he'd follow the instructions, but at least he'd heard them.

"I need you to take two messages to the Weasley Twins." Snape said, leaning forward again.

"First, if they are willing to act like responsible adults, and give me the list of which students have procured goods - legal and not - from them, they will have one day's detention with Filch. If they are not going to act like responsible adults, I'm certain Filch will take great pleasure in hanging them from their wrists in the dungeons for a week. Perhaps he or I will remember to free them at the end of the week, you never can tell." Snape enjoyed using his voice and unaffected manner to intimidate, and he could count on Draco to use enough of the emphasis that the Twins would get the point.

"Second, I want a fifty percent cut of any proceeds that they make while purveying their wares inside the castle or on Hogwarts grounds. You may tell them, though you didn't hear it from me, that I'll be splitting my take with Filch. We can even call it hazard pay. They can bill our cut as 'Free Advertising,' if they'd prefer."

Draco nodded, looking solemn. No matter how amusing or vindictive Malfoy felt, he'd keep it professional.

Unless, of course...

Snape said, "I want you to make it hurt." That was, after all, why Snape had given these demands to Malfoy and not Potter. Malfoy would deliver them with the same polished arrogance that he always used. It was virtually guaranteed to set the Weasleys off, in anger if not in vengeance. He hoped the Twins knew better than their youngest brother.

Draco Malfoy had never been properly in Professor Rubeus Hagrid's domicile (_was it really properly called a hut?_). Oh, sure, when he'd been younger and incessantly curious about daring Gryffindors - he'd peeked in.

But he'd never actually been inside. Perhaps that, among other reasons, was why the Twins were abiding within it. They had needed someplace to stay, and they'd be more invisible in the 'Hut' than sleeping outside. It wasn't as if smuggling them up to Gryffindor Tower was a possibility. (Draco knew several dungeon rooms with desks that could pass for a bed, and as a prefect, he could conduct nearly anyone there. his next thought tried to lap his previous one: _So Granger wasn't involved._)

Draco Malfoy straightened his black robes, and rapped firmly on the door. There was no answer, not even the swoosh of curtains. Not that the some-fraction-giant professor appeared to have curtains, so whatever. Draco drew in a deep breath, and pounded on the door.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

"COMING!" Hagrid cried, even in narration escaping the title 'professor.' His pounding footsteps made the dried vegetation nearby shake. "Why, if it isn't Draco Malfoy! Join me for tea - everyone loves a good biscuit."

Draco found himself nodding, swept away less by the cheerfulness of the professor (though that itself was disquieting - he'd tried to have the man sacked, for god's sake! Holding a grudge would be _sensible and prudent_. People who were neither were best avoided.) and more by the boom of his excessively loud voice.

Hagrid flung open the door to his... _it really looked like a hut..._ home.

Draco Malfoy strode inside the one-room...dwelling, turning to Hagrid, who was already shutting the door. "I've got a message from Professor Snape."

Hagrid nodded, "Sounds important. Best hear it out before tea, then."

Draco scrambled to recall when he'd actually agreed to tea. Then, a full five seconds of silence later, he realized that it was his turn to speak. "It's not for you. It's for the maniacal disruptions to his classroom yesterday. I have reliable intelligence that they've been drowsing here."

Draco blinked, and the two redheaded terrors had appeared. Unfortunately for him, they'd appeared to his sides. He had only a moment to gape, before they lifted him onto their shoulders (Draco was suddenly glad he was slender, otherwise his head would be hitting the rafters***).

"Honored messenger from the Potions Master," the twins said, "Allow us to convey you to the recipient of your knowledge."

"Let me down!" Draco said irritably. "You're the intended recipients, so I'm already there." It was nowhere near how spookily good Snape was, but at least they set him down - and then kneeled in front of him. It was a good thing Draco really was on messenger duty - there were so many possibilities to taking advantage of these two charlatans kneeling in front of him.

"He must be an angel..." One whispered to the other.

"Are you going to wrestle him, or am I?" the second whispered to the first.

"Enough!" Draco belted, the word less of a shout than a classroom voice designed for the Great Outdoors. It echoed in the single room. "I bear a message from the personage most harmed by your willful prank. Our potion master says that if you are willing to be responsible adults, and provide him with a list of which student buys what from you while you are at Hogwarts, you may spend a day's worth of detention with Filch. If you are not willing to be responsible adults, Filch will be most pleased to hand you in the dungeons by your hands for a week. At some point, someone may even remember to fetch you out." Draco made sure the last sentence sounded like this was a remote possibility. That, and he was entirely smug about it. "Furthermore, while you are on Hogwarts' soil, inside the castle or out, you will give fifty percent of your proceeds to Professor Snape."

Draco cocked his head, and then drawled, in a confiding tone. "I have it on good authority that Snape will be splitting his share with Filch, fifty fifty."

The twins exchanged a look. "We aren't responsible adults!" One said, protestingly.

The other, somberly said, "But we _can_ pretend to be." And they gave a most satisfyingly Slytherin smirk, the lot of them.

"You'll find Filch in the castle. Best be quick, so he doesn't think he can keep you working all night." Draco said, smiling.

As the twins departed, Hagrid smiled (a wide, gaptoothed grin, actually, but that sounded far less dignified), "Time for Tea!" he said, and managed the whip-poor-will accent. Draco considered that this was his idea of a joke, probably.

With an internalized sigh, Draco perched himself on one of Hagrid's rough-hewn chairs. He supposed they had a rustic sort of ... familiarity to them.

After he'd poured the steaming tea, Professor Hagrid seemed to hunch down, to talk with Draco Malfoy. It was almost like... no, it was Hagrid trying to be on a level with Draco's eyes. That was the sort of courtesy few tall people seemed to ever think of, let alone do. Certainly Snape had never considered it, in his entire life.

Draco wasn't about to make the first move - sometimes, it was true, offense made a fine, if aggressive, defense, but that was rarely the case with conversations, and at any rate, it would be a questionable decision to do that to any Professor, let alone one who seemed (in a daft sort of way) to be willing to let bygones be bygones.

"How are your classes coming?" Hagrid asked, somehow managing to put on an 'I really care about this' face.

Draco didn't believe it for a second, but he still answered, "Quite well. I'm particularly enjoying Potions this year - we're doing poisons and antidotes."

Hagrid chuckled, "Hence Snape's need for my snake collection."

"You-" Draco nearly choked on his tea, "have a snake collection?" It was less that Hagrid had a collection, he seemed the type, and more that it consisted of poisonous snakes. Draco's astounded glance looked around the simple hut (there was _really_ no better way to put it), and saw that there was precisely no place to put a snake collection.

"Of course I do!" Hagrid smiled - and changed the conversational topic before Malfoy could inquire further. "How's your assignment for the Dark Lord going?"

Draco carefully set down the biscuit that he'd been holding in his hand. It plinked as it hit the wooden saucer - how hard were these things? Were they even edible to Hagrid? Draco kept his face straight, and said, calmly and clearly, "I don't have any idea what you're talking about. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else?"

Hagrid laughed, "That's a good Snape-impression right there." Draco hadn't thought it was that good, honestly. "But you'd pull off righteous indignation a lot better than he ever could, what with your father being an Honorable Pureblood and all that rot." Hagrid grinned, saying, "Lay it on thick, and anyone who wants to believe you, will. The people who won't believe you, won't believe a word you say." Draco had to agree with that last sentiment - most of the Wizarding World knew Lucius Malfoy and his silver tongue.

That _was_ good advice. _From Hagrid?_ Draco looked at the Professor like the Professor had suddenly donned Muggle clothing and announced that all eight feet of him could pass as a Muggle ballerina. And a female one at that.

"Oh, come on now, I've been working beside a Death Eater for over a dozen years." Hagrid leaned forward, his eyes twinkling, "or so the rumor goes."

Then, Hagrid smirked.

Draco quietly glared at Hagrid, simmering more than boiling over, "You were a _Gryffindor_," he whispered, hoping Hagrid would hear anger, and not raw betrayal.

"Aye," Hagrid said, "But you dinna take care of sick animals without knowin' sumtin of Slytherin."

Draco looked quietly at Hagrid, letting the silence demand for Hagrid to continue.

"All animals act Slytherin when they're hurt - they slink away, conceal their pain, and try to get better on their own." Hagrid said, "To help them, you need a bit of Slytherin smarts too."

Draco shook his head, saying softly, "Have you been acting, all this time?"

Hagrid laughed, that big booming one that echoed even louder inside the hut. "Hat put me in Gryffindor because I don't lie and I don't play games."

Draco didn't believe that for a second, but he turned the talk to Quiddich, and immersed both of them in enough details that it was soon time for him to leave. He just wished he didn't feel so much like a sailor touching land for the first time in a year - everything swaying around him.

* * *

Tonight, in his quarters, Severus Snape poured two measures of firewhiskey, into two identical shot glasses.

_He could still hear her voice, saying, "The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is for the strong, and from the strong." _Instinctively, his head titled upward, his eyes glinting in remembered fury. That had been the year Lily had (briefly) been taller than him. He remembered, quite clearly, because he'd always gotten a crick in his neck while talking with her.

Snape quoted, aloud, "Forgive your enemies. Nothing else irritates them quite so much." That had been the year Lily had found an anodyne book on quotations, and had insisted on using them instead of Actual Thought. Snape far preferred Oscar Wilde's book, that he'd taken out of the library in response.

He hadn't lived that quote very well. Not that Potter was his enemy - he had scores of enemies, and wasn't about to look into making another. It didn't matter - Potter didn't know enough, wasn't powerful enough to be an enemy. Time would tell on that front, but the outlook looked promising - Potter was no longer purely a pawn.

For someone who so often wore confidence as a proxy for competence, Snape wondered, in a quieter part of his mind, if he could actually be decent at forgiveness. It was a quality he'd so rarely offered to anyone, and even more rarely been of a mind to.

Snape finished his drink, poured the other on the cold and stony ground, and then tossed the glass straight through where Lily's face would have been.

It never did to dwell on mistakes. You either capitalized on them, or you let them run under the bridge, like water being passed.

* This is a sound based ward, designed to warn Snape of impending trouble, either nighttime fights or nightmares.

** Snape has some latitude based on the Unbreakable Vow he took to Dumbledore. It's not the one in canon.

***Draco says slender. He really means tiny and dainty.

[a/n: These are the chapters you may want to read in the bite-sized bits, simply for the author's notes.

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	40. On Tenterhooks

Minerva McGonagall had been informed, by Severus Snape, that she was to mind the weekly Quiddich Chaos that Potter and Malfoy were routinely causing, that weekend. If she hadn't long experience with the particular twists of this Slytherin's mind, she'd have taken umbrage, and they'd have played out a yelling match all round the staffroom. She'd have done that anyway if asked in public, of course, and he knew it. "And you'll be?" she'd asked instead. Sometimes it was useful to have a feline form, it excused all sorts of rudeness for the sake of curiousity.

"Otherwise occupied." Snape said firmly, "I leave you the front row seat to Potter discovering exactly what he did in Potions class."

Minerva's eyebrows went up, just a smidge, "No one's told him yet?"

Snape shook his head, "I imagine he was occupied, as were many, with observing the Twins' detention yesterday."

Minerva asked, "How did that go, anyway?"

Snape shrugged, his face relaxing slight, "Filch was pleased. Apparently you and Dumbledore had conspired against him to never let him supervise a detention by the two fools."

Minerva paused, looked at Snape, and then said, consideringly, "I do think you're right. How strange. I generally give at least two of my detentions per term to Filch."

Snape shrugged, "Filch worked them from before dawn, until nearly midnight. He was smiling by the end,"

Minerva twitched at that, "Are the young adults still capable of forward momentum?"

Snape nodded, the corners of his thin lips twitching, before being pulled down into a frown. "They, by all accounts, and I assure you Slytherin accounts are quite reliable, had fun."

Minerva looked at Snape like he was capable of performing miracles. "You are a credit to your house, and to all of Britain. I bow to your superior wisdom."

Snape, as usual, looked smug.

* * *

Minerva had hurried down to the Quiddich pitch - by which she meant that she'd ascended to Gryffindor's Tower, and descended again on the shoulder of Ron Weasley. He made quite an imposing leaning post, tall as he was. Everyone knew her markings in catform, although Ginny Weasley looked like she was considering something more elaborate than just Minerva's eyeglass markings.

Minerva hopped off Ron's shoulder once she was close to the pitch, changing shape in midair - and nearly without skipping a step. Ron whistled lowly from behind her.

When she got to the Quiddich pitch (already the stands were coated in a thin covering of students from all four houses), her heart sunk a bit. Draco Malfoy was there, looking neat as a pin, as always. Clearly waiting for Potter.

And that - that meant that he meant to have that kiss out with Potter, right in front of every witness possible. This wasn't even going to be gossip, she realized. Just a conflagration.

Draco was certain, by the smell, that someone had brought popcorn.

Probably Blaise - the dratted half-blood was always showing off forbidden knowledge.

(Not that Draco would _complain_ \- popcorn was _delicious!_)*

This time, though, Draco wasn't in the mood for popcorn. Not for himself, and certainly not for Blaise. It would break the atmosphere, which Draco wanted to be tense. He wanted Potter ready to break. Or breaking, that would work nicely too.

Draco stalked out, his head jutting forward (If he could have managed it, he'd have swung it like a snake, but that looked lame in a mirror), jaw out. He didn't say a word, just sent a dark glare right between Potter's eyes (not that Draco was afraid of mindreading - if you didn't look them in the eyes, you didn't have to feel how out-of-sorts they really were).

Despite the blasted popcorn, Draco can feel Potter's fear. And that's a good thing, because it means he doesn't need to turn the volume up.

Trust one of the Gryffindors (The Redhead, Draco thinks), to go, "Ooooh, someone's in trouble..."

Even McGonagall looks sharp and attentive.

"Potter, do you have any idea what a kiss between two young adults of marriageable age means?" Draco Malfoy said bluntly. He feared he wasn't being anywhere near blunt enough for a Gryffindor.

"Um. No?" Potter said.

"Pansy hasn't said a word to you since then, has she?" Draco continued, falling into a sort of aggravated lecturing (hectoring) tone.

"Um." Potter said, seeming to have to think about it, "No?"

Draco was suddenly violently glad that Pansy wasn't around. Such rampant ignorance of her standoffishness would have driven her cuckoo.

"In Wizarding society, a kiss was originally used to seal a marriage compact." Draco Malfoy said, to the interested whispers from Gryffindors (and some Ravenclaws, because there were always some Ravenclaws who didn't care much about history).

Harry Potter certainly didn't care, "Yeah, so?" he said, starting to let his agitation show through.

Draco Malfoy said, "Not everyone chooses to hew to that tradition, of course. Some pureblood families simply see it as a promise."

Harry looked dumbfounded, "A promise of what."

"A betrothal, Harry!" Parvati said, "Oh, that's so romantic!"

Romilda said, "I KNEW you had feelings for Parkinson! I knew it!"

Harry was no longer paying much attention to Draco, too busy glaring (and befuddled at the same time).

"First to the snitch wins!" Draco Malfoy said, straddling his broom and shooting into the sky.

It took Potter several seconds to even get airborne.

And best of all, it was All Potter's Fault.

Harry's frame of mind, as he leaped into the air, was _What have I done now?_

That quickly faded into the sheer joy of flying. they started doing maneuverability drills (that did _not_ include Chicken, thank you very much). Spin, bank, loop - and the craziest of them, jag. Jagging was when you briefly broke your connection to the broom, letting it continue in motion If you did it right, you could gain an unexpected advantage - not from the broom's motion, but from your reconnection to it. Hence the jag - a sudden motion in an unexpected direction.

The crowd, and whatever ideas they'd managed to get about Harry, just seemed to fade away.

Honestly, that was a lot of what Harry liked about flying - something that took his full concentration. You couldn't worry when you needed your wits to not fall on your noggin.

He was sweaty, and hot by the time they landed, and it wasn't unusual for them to walk under the stands together, on the way to the showers.

Harry wasn't expecting Draco to put him in a headlock. One part of Harry expected his ass to get beat, and beat hard. Another part, thinking of Dudley, imagined that Crabbe and Goyle were finally going to knock the tar out of him. And a third, just wanted to _fight back_. As is often the case, when you have three different options that you want to do, you wind up doing neither.

Draco hissed, "I was engaged to Pansy at one point, you prat. So I want you to listen good and listen well."

Harry blaunched. He didn't need _this_ complication.

Draco continued, "Pansy is afraid her parents are going to treat you two as if you're married. That's why she hasn't provided a wisp of grist to the gossip mill."

Harry couldn't help but ask, "Is that even something that could really happen?"

"Yeah," Draco said, "It could. Her parents aren't fools, though. Staking a marriage to the Chosen One is rolling large, even for an ambitious Slytherin family."

Harry could feel that, as he whispered, "They don't think that I'll win, do they?"

"Not enough to bet on you," Draco said, "With Pansy refusing to fall all over you - you're most likely going to receive a letter informing you of your engagement. A formality, of course, since you already announced it with a public kiss."

Harry felt himself go weightless in Draco's arms, leaving Draco to lower Harry's head himself - otherwise, Draco'd actually be throttling Harry.

"What you need to do, when you get that letter, is Something Stupid." Draco hissed.

"My speciality," Potter joked, weak and white.

"Look, just stand up in the Great Hall and announce that The Dark Lord has no right to claim Britain as his own, and you will oppose him until your dying breath."

"That's stupid?" Harry said, honestly uncomprehending.

"Slytherins don't put cards on the table like that. Slytherins don't deal in absolutes like that. Speaking so will allow them to break off the engagement with their dignity intact." Draco pulled Harry's head around, so that Draco was staring into Harry's eyes, "That's assuming you don't want to be engaged."

Harry nodded, quiet and thinking.

Draco looked Harry in the eyes, and continued, "You don't want the engagement. Repeat that."

"I don't want the engagement," Harry said by rote.

"Now say it like you mean it," Draco growled.

"I don't want the engagement," Harry insisted, his voice low and intent.

"That's right," Draco said, a slow smile stealing over his features, "Because if you did, Pansy would _geld_ you."

Bollocks.

Harry's mind was awhirl with possibilities. Pansy was scared that he'd up and married her, right there in the Potions classroom? Pansy didn't want to encourage her parents to make that decision.

Draco didn't think it likely, but they were her parents, not his.

Ordinarily, Harry would have simply said, "I really need to think before I act." However, that wouldn't have helped here. He didn't know! It wasn't simply him being emotional - he'd had no reason to think this plan would backfire this badly.

The girls were being... _girly_ again. Which is to say, Hogwarts gossip had it that Pansy and Potter were fated together, and that was why he'd kissed her, without so much as a by your leave, or even being aware of what he'd done.

At least they weren't hounding him right now, although the girls displayed a striking ability to look wistfully at him and sigh.

Heading up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Harry thought, _Ah, here's another now._

It took him a moment before his mind realized that was Luna Lovegood sighing. Luna, who despite her belief in so many mythical creatures, wasn't the type to be mean or malicious. Or believe things that weren't true.

"Luna!" Harry said, grinning. "Would you like to take an evening stroll with me?"

Luna peered down at him from up-a-landing. "Why, I do believe I would." Her wispy smile broadened, "And you can scare off some of the gossips while we discuss crumple-horned snoracks."

Harry wrinkled his brow, trying to remember which creature that was. "Um, what is that creature again?"

Luna smiled brightly (she never minded people forgetting), and started to prattle on.

All through the walk, Harry fought the urge to look up at Hogwarts, to see which gossip was outlined in which window. It wouldn't do much good anyway, would it?

* * *

The next morning, Harry was up bright and early, running his laps around Hogwarts. Today, he was working on his footwork - and a good thing too, as there turned out to be a handful of traps on Harry's usual route. They had been inexpertly concealed, which Harry took to mean _Snape wanted me to find them._ The traps themselves were brutal, if unlikely to be truly lethal. Lightning here, water there - even an earthen trap that would send him into a pit. Harry didn't take the lesson, though, as _avoid the traps._ That would be a ridiculous lesson, _right outside Hogwarts_. No, the lesson was "disarm the traps." It was actually engaging and interesting.

Breakfast was good, and filling. As usual, Harry had come with an appetite. Not as large as Ron's (Lavender was feeding him, which was ... bewildering. A bit vexing, a bit gross, and a bit 'why can't I have a girlfriend'? All at once, and nevermind he knew the answer to the last one.) Harry's mind, though, was less on Ron and Lavender (helped, no doubt, by them being at the other end of the Table of Gryffindor), and more on Defense Class.

Harry didn't know much, but he knew that it wouldn't be the same as it was last week. Last week had been Snape vegetating and cogitating. Whether _or not_ he'd come up with anything entertaining, it was going to be different. Harry wondered, for one brief second, if Snape's attitude towards him would change; then, he deliberately blanked it from his mind.

It didn't matter.

What mattered was what was coming. The great gaping unknown - which, as Harry glanced up towards the high table - reminded him strangely of Snape's darkly luminous eyes.**

* * *

Minerva knew something was up from the moment she entered the Great Hall. She was too polite to ask (or, more correctly, grill Severus until he yielded up at least _something_.) Still, she was cat-curious, and knew if she'd been in her feline form, her tail would be twitching, and she'd be hunkering down, plotting how to spring. She was just glad that Snape didn't know much of cat curiosity, or he'd dangle things in front of her just for the fun of it.

Harry wasn't early to class for once. He didn't want to stand out, and he wasn't quite sure why.

Of course, there had been times when he hadn't wanted to stand out - it was more his policy than otherwise, really.

So why, with Snape of all people...had that changed?

Harry set the matter aside, merging into the flow of students into the classroom, and finding a blank expanse of wall (even when it was crowded, people stood closer to the center, with their friends.). He chose to try something different - he wanted to loosen up, to have his muscles warmed up for Defense Class.

This time, he was trying to do it quietly. subtly. He couldn't help but feel like his muscles were twitching - like a horse trying to twitch off a fly. It was a silly thing. But if someone had his robe off, they could see what he was doing, and what was the point of that? Harry frowned, _I need to get better at this._

"Class is now in session," Snape intoned, rather surprisingly appearing behind the podium. For a man who liked such showy entrances...

Snape stalked the informal aisles, stopping before Susan Bones, "Does it not bother you that you didn't notice me? That, when I showed myself, you simply stood there?"

Susan Bones blinked, as if confused at being asked any question. "Of course it does, sir. Closing the barn door doesn't catch the hippogriffs." Her chin jutted up, as if daring Snape to disagree.

"You will work on this in your spare time?" Snape said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"House Hufflepuff, sir," Bones responded, "We won't shirk."

Snape nodded gravely, "See that you don't."

Snape wheeled, and somehow managed to address the entire class from near the center of the room. "Earlier in the year, I began our study of blindfighting, the art of the dagger in the dark, the wand without wizard. Have you kept up with your training?"

No one responded, and Harry thought that this, unlike most of the nonverbal casting they'd worked on, hadn't actually been reviewed out of class.

"Potter - on the dais." Snape snapped.

Harry sprung onto the dais, landing more like a frog than a person.

Malfoy laughed at that, even as Harry stood up and sent his best glare at Malfoy.

Snape had taken a stave, and was drawing a circle around Harry. "This will be the dueling circle. It will allow the rest of you to see, while we remain in darkness."

There was a low murmur that echoed through the classroom. It held tones of interest and nervousness alike, with more than a few brushes toward suspicion.

Snape stepped into the circle, and said, "Nox."

Harry stowed his wand. It wasn't like he'd know where _the floor_ was, in about ten seconds, so why have something so fragile out and ready to break?

Snape's voice sounded from just behind Harry's ear. "Stand as still as you can, and do just what you're told."

Harry was suddenly sure that this wasn't how Defense class was supposed to go, even with Snape teaching. Perhaps especially then. Still, he grit his teeth, and tried to not ask _What the hell is going on?_

Snape's fist slammed into his back, and Harry bit back a scream. He'd managed to not scream under the Cruciatus, for a while at least. He wasn't about to scream here, in front of classmates.

The hail of blows continued, like fire exploding from various portions of Harry's body - the pain seemed to flow from one place to another. At least Snape wasn't laughing. Harry'd always hated Dudley's enjoyment, more than the bruises.

This felt like more than bruises, though.

The last thing Harry felt, inside the circle, was Snape grabbing his hand, and yanking. Harry fell on the hand, which was actually outside the circle. Snape's heel came down directly over the palm, and as the scarskin on the bottom tore, Harry screamed.

The entire class stirred (even the Slytherins, mostly, though Theo had somehow managed to keep his composure), but in the end, did nothing.

Snape moved his foot off Harry's hand, grabbing Potter by the wrist and hauling him upright. With his wand, Snape banished the circle of darkness, leaving a blank space in it's wake.

"Drink this," Snape said, offering Harry Potter a potion.

Harry studied the potion, for a brief second, watching the rainbows play over its midnight surface. _I've never seen this potion before. _Then, with a mental shrug, he drank. The potion seemed to bubble within him, little tingles of electricity flowing over Harry's body.

Harry heard Snape ask, "Can anyone tell me what I did wrong this class?"

He tuned out, after that, as he'd just realized something - his left hand _worked_, again. Harry spent the rest of class staring down at his hand, in wonder, as he moved it freely. He'd burnt the palm badly as a child, and just gotten used to how badly it had healed. He hadn't been able to straighten his palm in _years_... That wasn't the only thing Snape had fixed. Not that that was surprising, Harry thought. He'd seen me naked while we were training - because it wasn't like we weren't going to bathe for a month!

* * *

Harry left the Defense classroom as quickly as his short legs would carry him. His friends came after, Hermione finally pinning him - but at least he was away from the Slytherins.

"Harry, what was that about?" Hermione said, sounding legitimately angry, "It sounded like he was torturing you."

"Mate," Ron said, "What a git, am I right?" Ron sounded more like he trusted Harry to tell him if it was awful. Harry wasn't sure why that was - maybe Lockhart? Harry wasn't one for talking about troubles, generally...

Harry's face split into a twisted sort of smile, and he just kind of shook his head, "You could call it Snape saying thank you, for that prank I pulled on Friday."

Ron shrugs, "Funny way to say thanks, I guess."

Hermione seemed to bite back a retort, and then said, more calmly, "I don't think he means a 'nice' thank you. He means payback."

Harry didn't bother correcting her.

* * *

"Dead Handy," Neville Longbottom said, finishing retelling the story of Defense class.

Ginny Weasley got to her feet, "Try Peruvian Darkness Powder! Can't be dispelled, good for at least ten minutes. And my brothers sell it for next to nothing."

Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindors hadn't noticed, but Harry had - the other tables had been listening. Harry had a sudden suspicion that the Twins were about to be inundated with owls, ready to trade galleons for safety. Remembering his own parents, Harry could sympathize.

Shoving a sandwich into his mouth, Harry said, "Gotta go!" and headed for the owlry, already composing the letter in his head.

"Severus, accompany me," Minerva said in her crisp, no-nonsense tone.

Snape _knew_ that tone, and, while professional, it generally meant _You are in deep trouble, Mister_.

At least Minerva had waited until he was out of the Great Hall, Snape thought with a sigh. That had been enough of a burden on her curiosity, he supposed. Snape futilely protested, "If you will give me a moment, I have other obligations."

Minerva's look said, _I know you,_ as she responded, "If you're asking, they aren't _that_ pressing." _She knows as well as I do that I prioritize. If the Dark Lord was calling, I would answer, permission or no. Some things are too important for basic manners. I suspect by the time this encounter is concluded, I may have preferred the Dark Lord's scrutiny._

"They will be, if unattended," Snape said, well aware that leaving Harry Potter waiting in front of Snape's office was a disaster in the making. Particularly if one of his more prickly Slytherins decided it was part of _another_ prank.

"If you demolish the dungeons with a potion, I will eat my hat, and then we'll rebuild them." Minerva said. "You will not get out of that office for bad behavior."

"Nor will I for good behavior," Snape intoned.

"As if you knew such a thing," Minerva sniffed.

As they ascended another flight of stairs, Snape realized, _We're going to Dumbledore, aren't we? Oh, frabjous joy.** _Snape steels himself for more lemon drops and twinkling. Always with the twinkling.

Despite his growing concern and curiosity (which resolved into _What have I done now?_), Snape forbore to ask Minerva what was wrong. Her back was too straight, and her heels clicked on the ground. Gryffindor, that meant. Old battleaxe on the warpath because of one of her cubs.

_Potter, _Snape thought, rapidly putting the pieces together.

As they ascended the stairwell to Dumbledore's office, Snape did some calculations. When he stepped into Dumbledore's office, he breathed a sigh of relief. _No Granger, good. That makes this hearsay at best._***

Dumbledore's eyes still twinkled when they looked disappointed. Minerva seated herself in front of Dumbledore.

Snape, in response, strode over to his 'usual corner' (he hated sitting, in general, and his long legs never fit Dumbledore's chairs, which were designed for misbehaving children). "Well?" Snape snapped.

"What _were_ you thinking?" Minerva said. "This soddin' mess twixt you and Potter _has to end_, Severus Snape!"

Snape shrugged, inarticulately, "It is hardly my fault the boy scarcely considers destruction of an entire class worth of Potions to be a minor hindrance to his plans."

Dumbledore looked up at him, "Severus..."

Minerva sniffed, "I do not doubt you had provocation, Severus, or we'd be throwing you out on your head, the divvil take ye and make ye a mummer."

_Minerva must be upset. She never uses Scotch otherwise, and certainly not in front of Albus._ Snape stood, tall, no longer leaning against the wall behind him. Minerva's neck curved so she could see behind herself to look at him. "What exactly do you find so outrageous?"

Minerva sniffed, "My third period Transfiguration class claims that you assaulted Harry, brutally, in front of an entire year's worth of students."

Snape smirked, "And, because they were not minded to intervene, they decided to foist their complaints off on you?"

Minerva crossed her arms, "They aren't Gryffindors, Severus. I wouldn't expect them to be Lions, and you shouldn't, either."

Snape responded rather laconically, "It's been my general impression that I cannot count on even the Head of Gryffindor House to be a lion."

Minerva stood, and if Snape hadn't been behind her - _and still speaking_, he thought she'd have belted him - below the belt.

"Minerva McGonagall, you might have asked me for an explanation. In my office, or yours. There was _never_ any need for Albus to mediate, was there?" Snape's long stride sent him circling the older witch. "Better, you might have asked Potter." Snape could almost feel Minerva's eyes sharpen on his back, like claws just pricking the skin. _That's right, old witch._

Albus, unfortunately, picked that moment to interrupt, "What a capital idea!" he laughed. "Minerva, why don't you fetch Harry down?"

Minerva was halfway to the door, before Snape discretely coughed.

"What is it, Sev?" Minerva snapped. She knew how much he hated that nickname, and was trying to get under his skin. It was an admirable effort - for a Gryffindor.

"Perhaps it might be better if I brought him here?" Snape said, crossing his arms.

"Figuring to change his mind about what happened?" Minerva said, her hands coming to rest on her hips, "Don't think I'll give you the chance!"

Snape's eyes were cool, "I thought I might save your old bones the climb. Potter's waiting on me for a detention."

Minerva's eyes flecked with slight remorse. She knew what havoc a Gryffindor in the dungeons could wreck and wrack. "Then we'll both go." she announced.

_Good as I'm going to get._

Harry had been standing in front of Snape's office for what felt like hours, but was probably just a few minutes or something. He shifted from foot to foot, slowly, the practiced air of someone used to waiting for others. And trying to be quiet about it (Uncle Vernon hated him creaking the floorboards). Despite himself, he worried. _What could have happened? Anything, that's what._

Harry's face brightened as he saw Snape striding down the hallway, before he caught sight of Minerva McGonagall, hot on Snape's heels. A different sort of dread rose in him then. Someone was in trouble, you never saw both of them without reason. It was as if they avoided each other... though McGonagall considered Snape a friend. Maybe she had to, because if she didn't, she'd have forced Snape to leave off teaching.

Harry fell into some sort of awkward parade rest, making sure he wasn't leaning against anything. As the professors approached, Harry found himself glad that there weren't Slytherins nearby (he'd been listening, with half an ear). He opened his eyes wide, "Am I in trouble? I didn't do it!" In Harry's experience, there were two types of teachers - those that enjoyed scaring the living shit out of you, and Rubeus Hagrid, who had quite enough of that on account of his rather large body, and thus liked it better if you smiled when you saw him coming.

Snape looked deeply unimpressed by Harry's shading of the truth. Which meant Harry wasn't in trouble, because if he was, Snape would probably be rubbing his hands together in glee. Or something like that. Behind Snape's shoulder, Harry caught McGonagall's mouth twitching. She at least enjoyed his game of pretend. Whether or not she'd caught on.

"You are to accompany us to the Headmaster's office," Snape said, pivoting cleanly on one heel, and nearly pushing McGonagall over.

As McGonagall stepped towards Snape, rather than the wall, she continued, "There's a matter we were hoping you could help clarify."

Harry nodded, and they walked in strict silence towards the Headmaster's office. Harry knew that Snape wouldn't have let the silence run like this - it was only drawing attention, as if they were the three Fates, on the march - or three riders of the apocalypse, now searching for their fourth. The very idea of Dumbledore as ... War? Made Harry smirk. He couldn't be Plague or Pestilence, and while Death might fit - Dumbledore was known to be more of a warrior...

Harry was first up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, though he couldn't say if that was intentional on the teachers' part. He entered, and sat in the far chair, leaving the near one for Professor McGonagall.

"Ah! Harry!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "We were wondering if you could shed some light on an incident!"

"I'll do my best," Harry said, sounding a little more unsure than he actually felt. Either he knew it or he didn't.

Everyone just sat there, which Harry mentally interpreted as Snape (still standing behind Harry) glaring at the other two to get on with it, Dumbledore twinkling...

And there was McGonagall, right on schedule. "What _exactly_ happened during Defense Class this morning?"

Harry took a deep breath, mentally composing what he wanted to say. "Snape said that we were practicing blindfighting. He drew a dueling circle around me. I assume he used Nox, though he might have used a handful of other spells. It was dark. He said not to dodge, so I didn't." Harry took another breath, "After the demonstration, he gave me a potion. I feel better."

Harry had his mouth open to say something else, when Prof. McGonagall cut him off. "Did he, or did he not, trod on your hand, in full view of the entire class, to the point where they could hear it breaking?"

Harry shrugged, "Was that what had happned?" Harry tilted his head, looking back at Snape, who as usual was completely expressionless. "I was in a very dark place, so I couldn't tell you. I doubt I broke bones, though - it's my understanding that those are difficult to heal."

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward, "Have you had any pain due to this lesson, afterwards?"

Harry smiled a cherubic smile, "No! It's the strangest thing, though," Harry said, directing his smile down at his left hand, which he flexed in a way he was dead certain Snape would recognize from class. "My hand works now!" _It was true, it had been burned years ago. Harry had gotten his hand on the hot frypan, and ever since, his palm couldn't be stretched to full extension. It didn't matter for Quiddich, and it wasn't his wand hand._

Harry could see the questions simmering behind Prof. McGonagall's glasses, so he was glad when Snape said, "The terms of my contract, Albus, when it comes to harm perpetrated on students."

Dumbledore smiled, almost approvingly, "No permanent harm, nothing that leaves bruises or worse past when academically necessary."

Snape smirked, "I trust my contract will not punish me for helping a student?"

Dumbledore laughed, though McGonagall looked spitting mad. "I think we've unriddled this mystery," Albus said, gesturing toward the door in clear dismissal.

"You wasted my time, and Albus' " she hissed at Snape, as they went down the staircase.

Snape's voice, when it echoed down the spiral staircase, was lofty, "I would have told you, had you asked. Calling me on the carpet is hardly conducive to civil conversation."

Professor McGonagall left in a huff.

Harry turned to leave, only to feel Snape's long-fingered hand clasping his shoulder. "Forgetting about your detention so soon, Potter?" Snape's tone was mild, but that didn't stop Harry's stomach from dropping a foot.

Before Harry had time to blink, Snape had whisked them both into his office. With a wave of his wand, the desk and chairs moved out of the room (there were neat little closets that opened up, beneath some shelving, to accommodate).

"Well, Mister Potter," Snape said, stretching himself up to his full height, "You claim that potion has had a quite remarkable effect on physiological function. Shall we put you through your paces?"

Harry knew better than to answer that question - and the stinging hex that flew through the air (aimed at his heart) told him he'd understood. It wasn't a _real question_, simply a prelude to obtaining the answer.

Like many answers, this one required a full diagnostic. At this point, Harry wasn't even using his wand (hadn't drawn it, really), but was simply focused on _Don't get hit._

Spells crossed the room, and Harry wielded magic as much as he did agility - for handholds, and the occasional cushioning spell. Those weren't cheating, _not really_. It wasn't like Snape was shy about such matters - if he'd wanted Harry to bruise himself, - or likely break an arm, he'd have jolly said so!

Harry still wished for cover, though, particularly when Snape started casting more than one at once. It was one thing to defend against a wand tip - in general, most spells flew conveniently straight. Snape, though, often used his left hand - and when casting wandlessly too. At least for most spells, he wasn't able to cast behind clothing. If that was the case, Harry'd been done for.

If Snape had just been assessing Harry's hand, this would have been easy.

But nooo, Snape had fixed quite a few different marks - scars, whatever you want to call them.

So this was a test of agility, running nearly at the speed of thought.

Harry slid under the next spell (a stinging hex) and then flat out blocked the Bombarda (If he hadn't, it would have got the wall, and that had Potions Ingredients in Glass Jars - and wouldn't that have been a good Learning Experience?). He twisted, as Snape tried a bodybind (that was a long incantation, not that Snape was particularly going easy - it was to give him time enough to twist out of the way, if he would).

"Enough," Snape said, smirking, "It looks like the potion has worked." His voice turned graver, "However, you're still operating under the limitations you know," Snape got a smug look on his face, "Except, of course, when you're desperate. A Gryffindor tendency to throw caution to the wind?"

Harry shook his head, responding even if it wasn't a question, "No. In a fight, getting hit could spell death. Caution is best used when you have time to think. In a fight, it's entirely appropriate to take the bloody-minded route."

Snape nodded, just slightly, and gestured. His desk and chairs came marching back out.

"Sit," Snape said, and Harry did, noticing as Snape sat, that his professor did actually appear tired (and sweaty). _He's been controlling his breathing!_ Harry's mind hissed in a quiet sort of victory. _Better learn that._

"Would you care for something to drink?" Snape asked.

"Yes sir," Harry said.

Snape smirked, and two identical mugs appeared (in Slytherin green, rimmed with silver). Inside was something dark, and steaming.

Harry took a sip, feeling the familiar bite of strong black coffee - and then his nose picked up on the aromatic scent of alcohol. "Um, sir, did you mean...?" Harry asked, inarticulate both from 'not quite sure how to question Snape of all people' and 'shite, I already had a sip!'

In distress, Harry took another sip, and this time it wasn't the alcohol that made him want to cough, "Is this cinnamon?" he asked, in a semblance of Proper British Manners (by way of the BBC).

Harry would swear he saw the merest hint of a smirk on Snape's face, before Snape, ever poker-faced (when he wanted to be), said, "Yes. Cinnamon Schnapps."

Harry shot Snape a look that said, without using a word, 'is that okay?'

The fact that Harry's eyes were bulging out, probably prompted Snape's response. "It would be entirely improper for me to render you inebriated. Minerva McGonagall would have my hide - and then as many points from Slytherin as she could possibly take. A bit petty for a revenge, but you _have_ met the Weasley Twins, haven't you?"

Harry had never really considered the teachers' role in the House Cup, other than Giver of Points. As onlookers patently cheering and coaching their teams, well, it put an entirely new perspective on it.

"Likewise," Snape continued, "It would be most unwise of me to send you up to the tower bouncing off the walls from too much black brew." Snape waved his hand at the mug, then took a generous sip of his own.

"And so I've chosen a beverage whose most prized characteristic is balance." Snape says, "It doesn't hurt that coffee and cinnamon pair nicely, either." Snape never smiled, not really, but there were times, when it was almost like a ghost of a smile passed over his face. _Maybe my mum's- Stop that, it's creepy._

Harry nodded.

"Balance is a Hufflepuff virtue, far more than it is of any of the other houses." Snape said offhandedly, his voice serious. "Can you tell me why?"

Harry thought for a moment, "Ravenclaws get caught up in thought, and can sometimes forget about... everything. They obsess."

Harry shrugged, continuing, "Gryffindors can get that way, too, sometimes. Us versus Them is a good, solid metaphor used often in the House of Courage. I feel less comfortable speaking of Slytherin."

Snape said, slowly, "Ambition can be quite powerful, but it is easy for Slytherins to get lost in their own schemes, and in particular, ignore those they are hurting."

Harry nodded, "The lure of 'I can fix this' can be a powerful one."

Snape said, in a low, firm snarl, "_Nothing_ should have led to two second year students knowingly confronting a _bloody basilisk._"Snape paused for a moment, his fingers clenching and unclenching on his mug, "Without fortune, fate _and_ luck on your side, you'd both be dead."

Harry nodded, "I know."

Returning to more of his standard lecturing voice, Snape said, "House Hufflepuff is a house that people ignore to their detriment. I have had occasion to speak to several of my Slytherin students on their own intellectual deficit."

Harry smothered a smile. Snape's use of long words didn't make up for his insults, but it did make them significantly more funny when they weren't pointed at you.

Snape continued, "Wizarding Britain stands on the Hufflepuffs - if Hogwarts were a body, they would be our feet, keeping us standing."

Harry nodded, "Ravenclaw?" Harry was thinking eyes.

Snape responded, "Head, for thought, or eyes, for vision. Gryffindor is the sword, as Godric Gryffindor once wielded."

Harry smiled at that, "Fitting for the house of courage." Frowning, he gave himself a moment to think - Slytherin seemed like it was another house like Ravenclaw, far more mental. Was Slytherin like Dudley's vicious elbow?

Better to ask, "What's Slytherin, sir?"

Snape said, again with that wisp of a smile, "Slytherin is the shield. Where Gryffindor epitomizes boldness, Slytherins are naturally wary and cautious. Traits that you in particular would be wise to cultivate."

Harry looked down, blushing up to his ears, "Yes, sir." It really was a fitting metaphor, the type that just seemed to fit - even if it felt odd to hear Snape the head of Slytherin house praising the others.

They finished the spiked tea together, analyzing more of the day's fight - Harry in particular looking for where he was checking himself, and Snape analyzing his more general thought-patterns and actions.

** Frabjous is in the dictionary? Damn, but doesn't that miss the point?

*** Hermione, if she was reporting this, would have insisted on staying as a witness (both for testimony, and to see the proper punishment). That she's not there means Snape has a lot more latitude, if he needs it.

**Dumbledore's eyes sparkle. Snape's glint.

*the way past prejudice, you heard it here folks, is food!


	41. Uncooperative Creativity

Tuesday Morning, Harry rose before the sun did (the year was getting old, and so the sun was getting short with everyone). He wiped the sleep out of his eyes (because sleep was a beach that left sand behind, apparently*). He bounded down the stairs, in a controlled sort of perpetual fall, steered by his feet rather than caused by them.** He only slowed to a jog after he hit the ground floor running. If he'd hit the door at a flat run, it would have rebounded into its doorframe with a giant-waking thump (and since he wasn't trying to wake the whole stormin' castle...)

Harry ran around the castle, more wary than yesterday. Like yesterday, there were plenty of reasons to be wary. Not counting Hagrid's current collection of beasts***, or Sprout's greenhouses (which Harry was supposed to be going around, not rolling through - but he wasn't about to apologize if he wasn't caught), Snape had planted traps, some of which were practically muggle (Harry privately suspected that just meant he didn't notice the magic...). Others, of course, were just deadly. Those generally made a noise, or were otherwise detectable, if one was careful.

Careful didn't lead to fast running, of course. This wouldn't be one of the days Harry managed to circle the castle three times.

That was fine.

This was better anyway. Good training for being an Auror, Harry thought with a mild grimace.

People had just started assuming Harry wanted to be an Auror - and it really hadn't been worth correcting them. What else was he going to do? Quiddich? That seemed a waste... Oh, sure, he wouldn't mind doing it on the side... Besides, an Auror was a fine career path, and it wasn't like it didn't have difficult requirements. Not all the hard courses, of course - Hermione was taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, but still...

Harry really hadn't done much thinking at all past Voldemort's Death. For years, it had loomed so large, and was so inevitable, and was such the oncoming train of it all, unavoidable at best... Harry truly didn't know what he wanted to do. He wanted to be good at something, sure... but was that all? What was he even good at? With a fond smile, Harry remembered Hermione saying, "You have a saving people thing." It would be nice to be useful, sure... Not that he had to have all of this life and death surrounding him... but just to be useful.

The Twins were useful - they made people smile. Harry wrote a mental note to tell the Twins to take some of their products to St. Mungos, and write them off as a charitable expense.

By the time Harry stumbled up to his rooms, his robe was only slightly melted, in a few spots. He studied it, frowning, before concluding, _Not a complete loss. Not for classes anymore, though._

Tuesday flew by. Harry didn't really think much about anything except classwork. He threw his all into it, and found himself picking up the charms as if they were simplicity itself. That was how he worked, when he paid attention, ideas aligned and he was able to get his charms working properly. He wasn't Hermione - she was like that all the time. Harry? Just Harry got just distracted a lot by a lot of things, and he knew that some of them were important, and some of them weren't.

Not that knowing things helped, most of the time.

Harry sat down to dinner, noting as usual where people were sitting. Snape and McGonagall were having a 'healthy debate' at the High Table (by which Harry meant no one had probably been stabbed yet). Sprout was chortling (making her fat wobble in a very disturbing, and entrancing, way) as she was relating an anecdote to Filius. Dumbledore sat and oversaw everything, from the middle of the table.

Harry's eyes flicked down the Slytherin table. Pansy was not sitting with any of her yearmates. Were they afraid that Potter's stupidity was catching? That maybe he'd kiss one of them next? Harry made a mental note to tell Pansy his observations, before realizing it was probably futile.

Harry was in detention till doomsday. Otherwise known as when he graduated.

Harry got down to the Very Serious Business of eating dinner. Beef Wellington, with roasted taties, and some sort of green muck on the side. Nobody wanted the green muck, but nobody wanted to tell the House Elves that either. Hermione tried glaring Neville into eating some of it, in her prim way, "Please, they went to a lot of work to make this much - how would you like it if nobody ate what you made?"

Neville gave a sigh, and reluctantly managed a bite. Harry smirked -

A crack of lightning plunged the Great Hall into darkness. A gust of wind snuffed candles.

The entire Hall seemed to pause - Harry held his breath, and he wasn't the only one.

A clap of thunder, and then, in the middle of the Great Hall, there was a spectral green light. "I am Lussi!" a ... _witchy_ voice shrieked, and then she cackled. It was a witch, as from the Muggle Fairy Tales.

Harry blinked rapidly, adjusting his eyes. It was a simple trick - he was one of the first who saw the small, female figure on a broomstick. "Mean children beware!" The green light glinted off light, long hair.

_... was that Luna?_

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Lussiferda, Lussiferda, Lussiferda!" she cried, jabbing her wand above her head with each word. Hobgoblins and trolls popped out around everyone - Hermione shrieked and stood to avoid a goblin getting a look under her dress.

The witchy witch circled the room, pausing at the Hufflepuff table, "Have you been naughty little children?"

"Don't take me!" Ernie cried, abandoning all of the dignity he generally had.

Harry's attention was momentarily caught by the High Table, where McGonagall was climbing to her feet, irritation writ large on her face. (Harry could hear her stern _No broomriding in the castle)_. Beside her, Snape finished what he'd been writing with a flourish, and bopped Minerva McGonagall on the head with the rolled up parchment, exactly as you might a cat.

Harry suddenly knew he'd better never admit to watching this.

Snape wouldn't have done it if he'd known anyone would be watching.

Looking at the note, Minerva McGonagall sat down with a sigh, as she crossed her feet and leaned back. Snape smirked, and harry could nearly hear Snape savoring his victory.

Luna had flown over to the Gryffindor table, "Have you been naughty?"

"No, Dame Lussi." Hermione said, and Harry could tell she was just guessing on the address.

Lussi went to the middle of the room, again - very, very slowly - was something wrong with her broom. Again she jabbed her wand towards the sky, "Liars and Men of Honor, prepare to be judged!" She cackled, then.

The room reverberated with the wind, Harry desperately peeling his eyes closed.

Closing his eyes made it worse, not better - there were sounds everywhere, little hobgoblin feet, the booms of troll feet.

When the light shone again, Luna was nowhere to be seen. Neither were the trolls and hobgoblins.

Snape was the first person to take another sip - of coffee, black as his eyes. He did so, even though his hair resembled something out of Rainbow Brite.

Draco Malfoy, whose entire ensemble was not just rumpled, but also inside out _and_ backwards, stood, clapping slowly. "I stand for the Lussevaka this night."

Cho, and Li, and Padma rose to their feet (lunged would be more appropriate truly). "Ravenclaw stands with you, House Slytherin."

Harry's eyes flicked to Draco, who he swore had a look of satisfaction on his face.

Zach Smith rose for Hufflepuff, backed by Ernie, "Hufflepuff will join you, of course."

Lavender, Parvati - and Finnegan stood, "With Gryffindor, Hogwarts will stand united."

"Until evil be vanquished, and light burst forth again."

"Drika Jul!" the whole of the high table responded, as if to say "Amen."

and that was Albus Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling like usual.

Harry's first instinct was to _Ask Hermione_, but one look at her told him that she hadn't_ ever heard of this_.

And that made asking her a _really bad idea_.

Not knowing things was stressful for Hermione, and when stressed, she tended to snap.

"I'm going to the library," Hermione said, standing up, even though she wasn't half done with her dinner. Harry didn't need to look to know Malfoy would be smirking across the room from them. If asked, Malfoy'd probably serve up some sort of ill-mannered quip, too. Harry's eyes flicked to the Ravenclaw table, but they were too far away to be heard, and the Hufflepuffs were all cuddled together like some sort of squirming pack of still-blind puppies - cute, but no good for eavesdropping.

Harry's eyes flicked up to the High Table, and he saw Snape stand. Parvati had started to say, "In Scandinavia, there's a legend..."

Harry let her words fade into the background - he _couldn't_ stay.

He had detention.*

Harry didn't trudge down the stairs to detention. He walked, lightly, trying to make his footsteps quieter. That worked until he stumbled, hitting his shoulder on a piece of platemail. "Ow," he said, continuing downstairs.

"Enter," Snape said as Potter knocked on the door.

Harry knew, from the moment he stepped in the door, that this detention was going to be different than most. For one thing, there were no cauldrons. For another, the floorspace was entirely clear.

Harry swallowed a gulp, not entirely anticipating this.

This was a Defense detention, and so he'd better be prepared. It was almost like his armhairs standing on end, the way he focused. Ready, waiting, prepared to lunge, or roll, or even cast a spell.

Snape's wand moved, and Harry ducked into a roll - going on muscle memory, which was less instinct than _intent_.

It might have been fifteen minutes, it might have been four hours. Harry came out of 'battle-mode' as if coming out of a trance, with no idea of how long he'd been in it. He was sore, and Snape's wand was pressing into his throat, as Snape growled out, "Yield."

"I yield, sir." Harry said, trying (and failing) to control his gasps for breath.

Snape stood, putting his hands behind his back, before speaking, "The rest of the night is yours to enjoy."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said. And stood there, because he did want to know...

"Is there some reason you aren't leaving, Potter?" Snape asked, and he never seemed so snakey as when he was asking a question like that.

"What did you say to McGonagall at dinner?" Harry asked, just deciding to spit it out.

Snape started, "Well, we were discussing the merits of the Quiddich teams, specifically, dissecting the Ravenclaw team's weaknesses and strengths."

_Great. That wasn't at all what Harry had wanted to know._

Snape picked that up straight off Harry's face, of course. "With regards to Lussi? I reminded her that the rules against flying broomsticks inside the castle were designed to prevent children from battering each other down, and that it was hardly appropriate to apply that to a child's training broom."

"Thank you, sir," Harry left as gracefully as he could - because he _ached_. He hadn't even thought of how odd it was that Luna had been on a broom. Of course, McGonagall had wanted to say something about it. However, the wonder was that Snape had _disagreed_. There was something here Harry was missing.

Walking up towards Gryffindor Tower was a weird experience, but it took a while for him to even notice how weird it was. It was after dinner, and there was no one around.

That wasn't unusual when you were in the dungeons. Harry knew the Slytherin Common Room was cozy enough (if prim and proper to the nines), but most of the dungeon was drafty and chilly. It wasn't surprising that even the Slytherins thought twice before spending copious time in essentially unused classrooms and dusty jumped-up storage closets.

Going through the main floors of Hogwarts, though, had Harry feel a tendril of unease sliding up and down his spine.

_Where was everyone?_

It was like the entire castle had been kidnapped.

Instead of going towards Gryffindor, and bed, like any sensible student would do after a detention with Snape, Harry's feet turned towards the library. There were few things indeed that would get all the Ravenclaws out of the library - and yet, as he didn't see a single soul on his way to the library, that twisting unease fought against his mind - trying to turn to dread.

Pince was in the library, sitting at her desk. Harry sighed with relief. He wasn't sure he could have taken it if everyone had been kidnapped by Aliens.

Or Death Eaters.

Harry wasn't sure which was worse - he knew he could at least find Death Eaters, even if they were horrible cowards that hid behind unplottable wards.

"Where is everyone?" he asked the librarian.

She shrugged, "Not in the library."

Harry would have turned to leave, except that he saw a flicker of bright blonde hair.

_Luna?_ He thought, softly striding over towards her.

By the time Harry had gotten near Luna, he'd half convinced himself that Luna had something to do with making off with the rest of the castle (save Pince, who looked still as stone). It was Luna Lovegood, and with her, all things were possible, after all.

And there was this disquieting, almost itchy feeling under his skin. _Snape_ had said to enjoy himself. Snape wasn't a person one thought of as happy, no, never. Gleeful, perhaps, but not happy. His enjoyment of something was a darker thing - Hermione's laugh was bright, and Ron's smile was gay, but Snape? His enjoyment felt more like a brief and bittersweet indulgence.

So it was downright odd for Snape to order Harry Potter to enjoy something.

_What in the ducky is going on?_ Harry thought.

Before Harry could really think about tucking tail and turning round, Luna looked up at him. She hadn't been reading, just maundering - looking down and out the window.

"Oh, Harry! there you are!" Luna said, with that soft and airy smile.

"Where is everyone, Luna?" Harry asked, trying to keep any hard edges out of his voice.

"Outside, of course," Luna said, smiling. "There's a great big bonfire, and the house elves brought warm spiked cider, and treats!" Luna jumped off the windowsill where she'd been sitting, and did a soft pirouette.

Harry had to smile at that, even as his nose belated (and with help) decoded the subtle scent of _fire_. "Why aren't you outside?"

Luna smiled, showing off a bottlecap necklace, "Because I've got these, they keep the nargles away." Luna smiled, looking warm, "Nobody else will wear them, so we must resort to more extreme measures." Luna leaned over and winked.

"Like what?"

"Why, like bonfires and dancing and a feast! To chase the hobs away!" Luna smiled.

"It sounds lovely. Why aren't you down there with everyone else?" Harry persisted.

"I don't like fire," Luna said, "Particularly when it's out of control. It reminds me... of things I'd rather not think about."

Harry shifted uneasily, from foot to foot, "Do you need some company?"

Luna looked up at him, then gripped his hands, pulling him closer to her, "It's _do you want company_, Harry." Luna's blue eyes turned cold as a moonless night, "Or it's a lie." Luna's lips quirked into a devilish smile, "Don't lie to me."

"Are you feeling lonely? I hate feeling lonely, and would keep you company if you were." Harry said, trying to choose his words with enough precision.

"Go join the lot of them, Harry," Luna said, using her hands on his wrists to spin him, until his backside was touching her front. She lightly patted him on the nearest available surface, "Get going, lil' doggie."

Harry did, thinking as he plummeted down the empty stairs, _Luna is so strange._

It seemed like everyone else had changed before descending to the bonfire (or ascending in the Slytherins' case).

Harry didn't mind not having changed (his non-school clothes were overly large), though he hoped he didn't look the part of the prat, like Malfoy did, strutting around with his medallion on. The Ravenclaws were doing it too, so at least Malfoy wasn't so gauche as to _do it alone_.

Wow. Had he really fallen so far as masturbation jokes?

There was food, and drink, a bit of music (someone had scraped together a guitar and a flute).

Harry was quite surprised to find he liked it - a lot.

Most of the time at Hogwarts, he was at purely Gryffindor parties, and they were pandemonium incarnate. Well, granted a lot of that was the Twins doing, but when you have everyone brave enough to think they're the Life of the Party, well, it's a recipe for noise so loud that nobody could sleep, even if they didn't want to party.

... which had been Harry, some of the time. He couldn't even skulk up to his room and try to sleep.

No, it had been craziness and zaniness, and a whole bunch of madcap plans and ideas.

In five years of twin induced madness, it was a wonder that nobody had capered down to the Slytherin dungeons and painted the snake Red and Gold (of course, they'd have to find the snake first, but employing time-tested Gryffindorian methods, they'd simply dye every animal they saw, until by process of elimination...).

Gryffindor parties made for fun stories, afterwards, along the level of "do you remember when Seamus stuck himself upside-down to the ceiling and started turning piroettes?" Everything always seemed hilarious, and tended to grow crazier in the telling. There was always some new elaboration... _Hmm_, Harry thought, _I've never actually heard of one of these stories told about Hermione..._

Harry himself leaned back against a tree, half lit by the firelight.

People were casual here, not manic like the Gryffindor parties, but also not... like the Yule Ball. Everyone had been Dressed Up there, and that had put undue pressure on everyone and everything. Particularly the boys, in some sense - they didn't much like the idea of Playing Dressup. Harry blinked, shifting himself into the position of, of all things Pansy Parkinson. He pictured her being upstaged and outstaged by Hermione Granger of all people - to the point where her own date (Malfoy) hadn't recognized Hermione Granger, his ... nemesis? Whatever you wanted to call it (Harry was certain that if he asked, he'd get a full list of three syllable words).

It had been stiff, and formal, and nobody had relaxed the entire night.

Lavender and Ron were making a spectacle of themselves - which would have been fine, Harry thought, if it didn't look like their public displays of affection were getting Pansy's nose seriously out of joint.

Harry was about to work himself into standing up (He was comfortable, for once!), when he remembered that there were solid reasons he shouldn't interfere. So thinking, he leaned back against the tree again.

"Looks like a lovely time you're having, Potter." Draco Malfoy's voice intoned, from somewhere behind Harry's ear.

Harry jumped, nearly pivoted in place, only Malfoy's wiry hand on his shoulder preventing it.

"I'm not here," Malfoy said, and Harry's eyes at last caught sight of the oddity - he _couldn't see_ Malfoy's hand, even though he could feel it on his shoulder.

"So I see," Harry said, hiding a smirk - it would look odd to be smirking at nothing, after all.

"People watch you. You couldn't manage to hide if your life depended on it." Draco Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, "I can hide fine enough. People don't bother a bear, even if they always keep track of where it is."

Harry could hear the smile in Malfoy's voice (and that was odd, the bloke barely ever smiled), "True enough. But I'd rather not make waves, and nobody's going to miss me for a little bit."

Harry shrugged, "So long as nobody wants me to put on a show."

Malfoy's laugh was light and cold, as silver as his eyes. "When I was affianced to Pansy, shows were the least of it. She wanted everything, and all of it immediately."

Harry chuckled, low and quiet. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Hey! I didn't either. Mum had to talk me through half of it, and that using an owl."

"No wonder you used to get so many owls!" Harry said softly, his voice amused.

"I miss them. I even miss Pansy, though she was a tyrant." Malfoy said lightly, and Harry knew if he could see those silver eyes, they'd flicker with a trace of sadness.

Harry had only a second to contemplate 'Malfoy's situation' - he really _hadn't_ given any thought to the social consequences of (he presumed) being a Death Eater. Then Ron and Hermione descended on him, tugging him off his comfy tree and sending him into the dance.

Talking with Malfoy had given Harry cause to acquire a new goal: Avoid Pansy Parkinson at all costs.

Hermione Granger liked to study a problem. She'd approach it from all angles, and then, like a gemer with a rock hammer, would hit it. Hard. She'd break it into the pieces she liked, and wind up with a lovely result.

Harry didn't like those sorts of problems. He liked the ones where he had to respond quickly, where there was a limited time, and a limited space.

That was, actually, what he'd run into this morning. Snape's traps (which were either set to hurt only Harry, or set to disappear after sunrise, and Harry wasn't sure which was more likely or disturbing. Not that Harry truly contemplated Snape devising elaborate revenge schemes _for him_. No, those likely belonged to Harry's father.)

It wasn't as if these traps were fair, or anything. They were realistic, though, and Harry thought if he were Hermione, he'd probably have figured out how to hide from them, or how to _sense them back_ when they were trying to sense him.

That wasn't him, though. Harry danced through a scattered shower of knives, bounced over a hole that tried to form under him, tucked himself into a ball and rolled under some spears... These were really violent, weren't they?

Drip, drip drip.

Harry's ears pricked. His eyes were drawn to the sizzle of dry autumn leaves dissolving in acid. His eyes opened wide as he saw a gila monster (or the magical equivalent) right in front of him.

Time to make like a bird and get up a tree. Harry thought, his quick scramble leaving the gila monster to walk back to its post. Harry hopped off the other side (turning his fall into a roll), landed with a rolling thudding bounce, and then unrolled himself as quickly as he could (don't leave yourself vulnerable too long, was a lesson he'd learned the hard way, from Dudley Dursley).

It was fun to surpass all the traps - or at least so Harry was thinking. Until he heard a sickening crunch. He looked down, and saw the steel jaws biting deep into his leg. From the feel of it, they'd struck bone.

Harry took a deep breath, knowing that he had to scream, that he was going to scream.

He sucked in a deep breath of air, and bellowed, "Help!" It was better than screaming. Screaming was the loss of control.

Asking for help was just practical.

Harry didn't have time to feel stupid, as he drew in more air. "Help!" he called, knowing that most people were sleeping now (certainly no one had ever asked him about these runs.)

His vision was starting to gray around the edges, as he opened his mouth again. Before he could as much as croak, a black sleeve covered his mouth, muffling his depleated voice. Harry didn't have time to panic, before the darkness surrounded him.

Draco Malfoy had come to breakfast early, wanting to review a few intricate spells in case they were needed in Defense today. Snape was well off his syllabus, and didn't seem to be particularly interested in returning to it. Draco knew what the Professor would say if confronted (by, say, a nosy Gryffindor): "No plan survives contact with the enemy." He was nearly done, when the Gryffindors arrived, as a pack, as usual. No Potter.

Draco frowned, and - instead of leaving in pursuit of someplace quiet, decided very abruptly to stay.

Granger and the Weasels looked worried from the moment they sat down (though they were good at hiding that). Draco's eyes looked up at the high table, where he noted that the teachers looked unmoved, as if whatever was wrong, they were fully briefed.

In Draco's experience, that was when the problems with Potter generally started. He seemed to excel at getting himself in _yet more trouble_. _If I keep my ears open, I may learn something profitable._

Throughout the hall, "Where's_ Harry Potter?_" was on people's lips (it was on Greg and Vince's at the Slytherin table, everyone else pretending disinterest).

Apparently rampant curiosity was _not_ enough to force the High Table to disgorge information. Draco would watch, and if that didn't work, he'd request information. Politely.

* * *

Harry Potter blinked his eyes open, in the sterile white that was the school infirmary.

Madame Pomphrey bustled over, all officious, "Oh, you're awake!" She smiled down at him.

Harry didn't trust doctors who smiled, never had. "How bad is it?"

She stopped smiling. That was good, meant it was serious, but not too serious. Harry had wondered, a while back, if she smiled when she told children they were terminal. Probably not, that would be too professional for the Wizarding World. "Well, Mr. Potter. For the scale of the injury, I am happy to tell you that we will have you right as rain. Eventually."

Harry paused, remembering in a flash, just how nasty the injury had been. "How long?" Harry asked, not caring as much about anything else. Glory, but he _hated_ the infirmary.

"Two nights. We'll have you up and functional in time for Friday classes." Madame sniffed, "You'll be confined to light work, but as Severus assures me that your DADA classes are on Mondays and Wednesdays, you needn't worry. You'll be fit enough for classes."

Harry felt something niggle in the back of his head, "And Hogsmeade?"

Madame Pomphrey said, "That fits within the purview of 'light duty', so long as you don't go running on that leg of yours. Be lucky you can use a crutch."

Harry was suddenly just very glad it wasn't a cane.

* * *

Being stuck in a bed was boring, Harry thought, and turned his attention to his pillow. He wanted to work on his wandless magic. And here was a convenient receptacle. Maybe he could make it one of those ornamental pillows from Mrs. Figg's old house. With cats on, even!

He kept trying for hours, but in the end, only managed to make it a little ovalloid (was that a word?), and a bit more compact. Harry didn't mind. He hadn't slept with pillows when he was young, and he'd never minded then. A harder pillow, and a flatter one, was generally his preference.

Harry sat in the infirmary, impossibly bored. That was the stage of boredom you generally reached after about a dozen hours of doing simply nothing. Harry'd reached it in two. His pillow was still stubbornly ovaloid.

Harry heard a loud boom, and looked around the infirmary - half nervous, half _wired_. Nerves were useless things - wired was pure energy, not yet focused into _doing_.

"If the two of you would be kind enough to stop whispering, and allow me to start my class?" Snape's voice (in false saccharine mode) slithered through the infirmary.

It took Harry a moment to grasp the content of what Snape was saying. He _wasn't here_, he was in the defense classroom. And from the tone, that was Ron and Hermione. _Probably concerned about me_, Harry thought wryly.

"Thank you. In the future, you may learn more by keeping your mouths closed and your ears open." Snape drawled. "Speculation has a 99% chance of being useless, in my experience." Snape's eyes hardened (Harry didn't need to see to hear in Snape's expressive voice), "Or would you care to share your inane blather with the class?"

"No, sir," Ron said.

"We were wondering where Harry is, sir," Hermione said, her tone respectful even if her words were anything but.

"Has your speculation helped any thing at all?" Snape drawled, his tone patronizing.

"No, sir. Though it might in the future, as any planning ought." Hermione didn't take well to being patronized.

Harry heard the faint sounds of Professorial Robes swishing, and interpreted that as "Snape was done pestering the impudent Gryffindors, and was now heading towards the front of the classroom."

"As I was saying, you might learn more from listening than idly talking. In this case, one Mister Harry Potter has apparently decided to conduct some extra credit for Defense class." Harry didn't need to be there to see Snape's eyes turning to slits - _Shite, the Defense Club!_ Harry had to hope that no one was as bad at acting as he was. Snape wasn't even _talking_about that. "At nearly six in the morning, today, Mister Potter was injured in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest."

"Accio Contraption!" Snape continued, not giving anyone enough time to even breathe a syllable about Harry. Whatever Snape had summoned, he shook - it had a metallic rattle, dull and heavy. "How many of you know how this works?"

"A paltry five. Had any of the rest of you been accompanying Potter, you would have been injured as easily. Granger, demonstrate how this works." Snape rattled off. _Although it was nice of Snape to make it seem like Harry wasn't a complete and collossal idiot for stepping into a trap, Harry was one of those who knew how they worked. It was completely stupid for him to have fallen for it._

A moment later, "Not like that," Snape hissed, urgency in his voice, "If it nearly severed Potter's leg, what do you think it might do to your arm?"

The next moment, Harry heard, "Accio Oaken Cane!" Followed by the thunk of something hitting (presumably Snape's) hand. "Here, try this."

Springing the trap didn't make a detectable noise. What did was the audible crunch of metal teeth through a wooden cane. then the louder metallic crash of the teeth clanging together.

Someone in the class - possibly Parkinson (who possessed a particularly teeth-grating laugh) screamed in Soprano.

Snape allowed it to peter out, before speaking, "What sort of magic is this?" His dark tone was mild.

Hermione let out a nervous giggle, "No magic here, sir. Just a simple machine."

Snape continued, "If it had been you, and not Potter in the woods, how would you have detected such a thing?"

Hermione paused, "Using my eyes. Which, yes, are fallible."

Snape continued, "Is there a spell for detecting such muggle equipment?"

Hermione said, "Not that I know of." _I know of one_, Harry thought, suddenly, _That magnetism trick would have been easily able to detect it!_

"Nott," Snape said.

Nott responded, "For that particular... device, I could cast a detection spell for metal."

Hermione said, quietly, "Not all muggle traps are metal."

Snape continued, "Your homework assignment, at least for the ones of you that are not indisposed, is to research Muggle traps, and write an essay on one of them. You will each choose a different trap, is that understood?"

The room erupted in whispers, before Snape's voice cut through them again. "Potter will be losing 100 points for being out of bed, out of Hogwarts, and out of bounds after curfew."

The room stilled.

"For serving as an abject lesson in understanding the tools of war, Potter has gained Gryffindor 25 points." Snape said. "Class dismissed."

Unfortunately for Harry, the sound did not cut off just then. As students scrambled out the door, it was a merry din in the normally quiet infirmary. Harry heard the grind of a door shutting, and the sounds muffled. Soon, there was another stony grind, and Harry heard Ron, whisper-shouting to Hermione, "How can he do that? Harry's hurt - isn't that enough? Does he have to take that many points?" As Harry was currently hearing from Snape's own position, his heart sunk. Ron's mouth was going to get Ron in trouble - and Ron had been trying to be polite! He just wanted to vent.

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said, "I want to see Harry before our next class."

Snape's voice spoke smoothly, "You would do well to listen to Miss Granger's words. Patience is a virtue."

Harry listened to the swish of Snape's robes for nearly a minute, before he heard a soft, "Off."

*beach should be read in a Jamaican accent, obviously.

**gravity is making him fall. feet are steering, not propelling.

*** the word's menagerie, Harry. menagerie.


End file.
